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POPULAR TALES 


BY 


MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

> < 


EMBELLISHED 

WITH ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY CROOME. 


CONTAIN ING 

MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 
THE MANUFACTURERS. 
THE CONTRAST. 

THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 
TO-MORROW. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

G. HENDERSON & CO 

N. W. CORNER FIFTH AND ARCH STREETS. 

NEW YORK: 

APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 
185 3. 



I s C a 


L( t ( r { 





CONTENTS. 

MURAD THE UNLUCKY. ? 

THE MANUFACTURERS. . 71 

THE CONTRAST.137 

THE GRATEFUL NEGRO .2S3 

TO-MORROW. 337 










PREFACE. 


Some author says that a good book needs no apol¬ 
ogy ; and as a preface is usually an apology, a book 
enters into the world with a better grace without one. 
I, however, appeal to those readers who are not glut¬ 
tons, but epicures, in literature, whether they do not 
wish to see the bill of fare. I appeal to monthly 
critics whether a preface that gives a view of the 
pretensions of the writer is not a good thing. The 
author may overvalue his subject, and very naturally 
may overrate the manner in which it is treated; but 
still he will explain his views, and facilitate the use¬ 
ful and necessary art which the French call reading 
with the thumb. We call this hunting a book ,—a term 
certainly invented by a sportsman. I leave the 
reader to choose which he pleases, while I lay before 
him the contents and design of these volumes. 

Burke supposes that there are eighty thousand 
readers in Great Britain,—nearly one-hundredth part 
of its inhabitants ! Out of these we may calculate 
that ten thousand are nobility, clergy, or gentlemen 
of the learned professions. Of seventy thousand 
readers which remain, there are many who might 
be amused and instructed by books which were not 


IV 


PREFACE. 


professedly adapted to the classes that have been 
enumerated. With this view the following volumes 
have been composed. The title of Popular Tales 
has been chosen, not as a presumptuous and prema¬ 
ture claim to popularity, but from the wish that they 
may be current beyond circles which are sometimes 
exclusively considered as polite. 

The art of printing has opened to all classes of 
people various new channels of entertainment and 
information. Among the ancients wisdom required 
austere manners and a length of beard to command 
attention; but in our days, instruction in the dress of 
innocent amusement is not denied admittance among 
the wise and good of all ranks. It is therefore hoped 
that a succession of stories adapted to different ages, 
sexes, and situations in life will not be rejected by 
the public unless they offend against morality, tire 
by their sameness, or disgust by their imitation of 
other writers. 

RICHARD LOVELL EDGEWORTH. 


Edgeworth's Town , Feb. 1804. 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


CHAPTER I. 

It is well known that the grand seignior amuses 
himself by going at night, in disguise, through the 
streets of Constantinople; as the caliph Haroun 
Alraschid used formerly to do in Bagdad. 

One moonlight night, accompanied by his grand 
vizier, he traversed several of the principal streets 
of the city, without seeing any thing remarkable. 
At length, as they were passing a rope-maker’s, 
the sultan recollected the Arabian story of Cogia- 
Hassan Alhabal, the rope-maker, and his two 
friends Saad and Saadi, who differed so much in 
their opinion concerning the influence of fortune 
over human affairs. 

“ What is your opinion on this subject ?” said 
the grand seignior to his vizier. 

“ I am inclined, please your majesty,” replied 
the vizier, “ to think that success in the world de- 


8 


POPULAR TALES. 


pends more upon prudence than upon what is called 
luck, or fortune.” 

“ And I,” said the sultan, “ am persuaded that 
fortune does more for men than prudence. Do 
you not every day hear of persons who are said to 
be fortunate or unfortunate? How comes it that 
this opinion should prevail among men, if it be not 
justified by experience ?” 

“ It is not for me to dispute with your majesty,” 
replied the prudent vizier. 

“ Speak your mind freely; I desire and com¬ 
mand it,” said the sultan. 

“ Then I am of opinion,” answered the vizier, 
“ that people are often led to believe others for¬ 
tunate, or unfortunate, merely because they only 
know the general outline of their histories; and are- 
ignorant of the incidents and events in which they 
have shown prudence or imprudence. I have heard, 
for instance, that there are at present in this city 
two men, who are remarkable for their good and 
bad fortune: one is called Murad the Unlucky, 
and the other Saladin the Lucky . Now I am in¬ 
clined to think, if we could hear their stories, we 
should find that one is a prudent and the other an 
imprudent character.” 

“ Where do these men live ?” interrupted the sul- 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 9 

tan. “ I will hear their histories, from their own 
lips, before I sleep.” 

“ Murad the Unlucky lives in the next square,” 
said the vizier. 

The sultan desired to go thither instantly. 
Scarcely had they entered the square, when they 
heard the cry of loud lamentations. They fol¬ 
lowed the sound till they came to a house of which 
the door was open; and where there was a man 
tearing his turban, and weeping bitterly. They 
asked the cause of his distress, and he pointed to 
the fragments of a china vase, which lay on the 
uavement at his door. 

“ This seems undoubtedly to be beautiful china,” 
said the sultan, taking up one of the broken pieces; 
“ but can the loss of a china vase be the cause of 
such violent grief and despair ?” 

“ Ah, gentlemen,” said the owner of the vase, 
suspending his lamentations, and looking at the 
dress of the pretended merchants, “ I see that you 
are strangers: you do not know how much cause 
I have for grief and despair! You do not know 
that you are speaking to Murad the Unlucky! 
Were you to hear all the unfortunate accidents that 
have happened to me, from the time I was born 
till this instant, you would perhaps pity me, and 
acknowledge I have just cause for despair.” 


10 


POPULAR TALES. 


Curiosity was strongly expressed by the sultan ; 
and the hope of obtaining sympathy inclined Murad 
to gratify it, by the recital of his adventures. 
“ Gentlemen,” said he, “ I scarcely dare invite you 
mto the house of such an unlucky being as I am; 
but, if you will venture to take a night’s lodging 
under my roof, you shall hear at your leisure the 
story of my misfortunes.” 

The sultan and the vizier excused themselves 
from spending the night with Murad; saying that 
they were obliged to proceed to their khan, where 
they should be expected by their companions ; but 
they begged permission to repose themselves for 
half an hour in his house, and besought him to re¬ 
late the history of his life, if it would not renew his 
grief too much to recollect his misfortunes. 

Few men are so miserable as not to like to talk 
of their misfortunes, where they have, or where 
they think they have, any chance of obtaining com¬ 
passion. As soon as the pretended merchants were 
seated, Murad began his story in the following man¬ 
ner : 

“ My father was a merchant of this city. The 
night before I was born, he dreamed that I came 
into the world with the head of a dog and the tail 
of a dragon; and that, in haste to conceal my ae- 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 11 

fomrity, he rolled me up in a piece of linen, which 
unluckily proved to be the grand seignior’s turban; 
who, enraged at his insolence in touching his tur¬ 
ban, commanded that his head should be struck off. 

“ My father awaked before he lost his head; but 
not before he had half lost his wits from the terror 
of Ills dream. He considered it as a warning sent 
from above, and consequently determined to avoid 
the sight of me. He would not stay to see whether 
I should really be born with the head of a dog and 
the tail of a dragon ; but he set out the next morn¬ 
ing on a voyage to Aleppo. 

“ He was absent for upwards of seven years; 
and during that time my education was totally ne¬ 
glected. One day, I inquired from my mother 
why I had been named Murad the Unlucky ? She 
told me that this name was given to me in conse¬ 
quence of my father’s dream; but she added, that 
perhaps it might be forgotten, if I proved fortunate 
in my future life. My nurse, a very old woman, 
who was present, shook her head, with a look 
which I shall never forget, and whispered to my 
mother, loud enough for me to hear, 4 Unlucky he 
was, and is, and ever will be. Those that are born 
to ill luck cannot help themselves: nor can any 
but the great prophet Mahomet himself do any 


12 


POPULAR TALES. 


thing for them. It is a folly for an unlucky per¬ 
son to strive with their fate; it is better to yield to 
it at once.’ 

“ This speech made a terrible impression upon 
me, young as I then was ; and every accident that 
happened to me afterward confirmed my belief in 
my nurse’s prognostic. I was in my eighth year 
when my father returned from abroad. The year 
after he came home my brother Saladin was born, 
who was named Saladin the Lucky, because the 
day he was bom a vessel freighted with rich mer¬ 
chandise for my father arrived safely in port. 

“ I will not weary you with a relation of all the 
little instances of good fortune by which my brother 
Saladin was distinguished, even during his child¬ 
hood. As he grew up, his success in every thing 
he undertook was as remarkable as my ill luck in 
all that I attempted. From the time the rich ves¬ 
sel arrived, we lived in splendour: and the sup¬ 
posed prosperous state of my father’s affairs was of 
course attributed to the influence of my brother 
Saladin’s happy destiny. 

“When Saladin was about twenty, my father 
was taken dangerously ill; and as he felt that he 
should not recover, he sent for my brother to the 
side of his bed, and, to his great surprise, informed 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


13 


him that the magnificence in which we had lived 
had exhausted all his wealth ; that his affairs were 
in the greatest disorder ; for, having trusted to the 
hope of continual success, he had embarked in pro¬ 
jects beyond his powers. 

“ The sequel was, he had nothing remaining to 
leave to his children but two large china vases, re¬ 
markable for their beauty, but still more valuable 
on account of certain verses inscribed upon them 
in an unknown character, which were supposed to 
operate as a talisman or charm in favour of their 
possessors. 

“ Both these vases my father bequeathed to my 
brother Saladin; declaring he could not venture to 
leave either of them to me, because 1 was so un¬ 
lucky that I should inevitably break it. After his 
death, however, my brother Saladin, who was blest 
with a generous temper, gave me my choice of the 
two vases; and endeavoured to raise my spirits, 
by repeating frequently that he had no faith either 
in good fortune or ill fortune. 

“ I could not be of this opinion; though I felt 
and acknowledged his kindness in trying to per¬ 
suade me out of my settled melancholy. I knew 
it was in vain for me to exert myself, because I 
was sure that, do what I would, I should still be 
2 


14 


POPULAR TALES. 


Murad the Unlucky. My brother, on the contrary, 
was nowise cast down, even by the poverty in 
which my father left us: he said he was sure he 
should find some means of maintaining himself, 
and so he did. 

“ On examining our china vases he found in 
them a powder of a bright scarlet colour; and it 
occurred to him that it would make a fine dye. He 
tried it, and after some trouble it succeeded to ad¬ 
miration. 

“ During my father’s lifetime, my mother had 
been supplied with rich dresses by one of the mer¬ 
chants who was employed by the ladies of the grand 
seignior’s seraglio. My brother had done this mer¬ 
chant some trifling favours; and, upon application 
to him, he readily engaged to recommend the new 
scarlet dye. Indeed it was so beautiful that the mo¬ 
ment it was seen it was preferred to every other 
colour. Saladin’s shop was soon crowded with 
customers; and his winning manners and pleasant 
conversation were almost as advantageous to him 
as his scarlet dye. On the contrary, I observed 
that the first glance at my melancholy counte¬ 
nance was sufficient to disgust every one who saw 
me. I perceived this plainly; and it only con¬ 
firmed me the more in my belief in my own evil des¬ 
tiny. 



MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 15 

“ It happened one day that a lady, richly appa¬ 
relled, and attended by two female slaves, came to 
my brother’s house to make some purchases. He 
was out, and I alone was left to attend to the shop. 
After she had looked over some goods, she chanced 
to see my china vase, which was in the room. She 
took a prodigious fancy to it, and offered me any 
price if I would part with it ; but this I declined 
doing, because I believed that I should draw down 
upon my head some dreadful calamity if I volun¬ 
tarily relinquished the talisman. Irritated by my 
refusal, the lady, according to the custom of her 
sex, became more resolute in her purpose; but 
neither entreaties nor money could change my de¬ 
termination. Provoked beyond measure at my ob¬ 
stinacy, as she called it, she left the house. 

“ On my brother’s return I related to him what 
had happened, and expected that he would have 
praised me for my prudence: but, on the contrary, 
he blamed me for the superstitious value I set upon 
the verses on my vase; and observed that it would 
be the height of folly to lose a certain means of ad¬ 
vancing my fortune, for the uncertain hope of ma¬ 
gical protection. I could not bring myself to be of 
his opinion; I had not the courage to follow the 
advice he gave. The next day the lady returned, 


16 


POPULAR TALES. 


and my brother sold his vase to her for ten thou¬ 
sand pieces of gold. This money he laid out in 
the most advantageous manner, by purchasing a 
new stock of merchandise. I repented when it was 
too late ; but I believe it is part of the fatality at¬ 
tending certain persons, that they cannot decide 
rightly at the proper moment. When the oppor¬ 
tunity has been lost, I have always regretted that 
I did not do exactly the contrary to what I had pre¬ 
viously determined upon. Often, while I was hesi¬ 
tating, the favourable moment passed.* Now this 
is what I call being unlucky. But to proceed with 
my story. 

“ The lady who bought my brother Saladin’s 
vase was the favourite of the sultan, and all-power¬ 
ful in the seraglio. Her dislike to me, in conse¬ 
quence of my opposition to her wishes, was so vio¬ 
lent, that she refused to return to my brother’s house 
while I remained there. He was unwilling to part 
with me; but I could not bear to be the ruin of so 
good a brother. Without telling him my design, 
I left his house, careless of what should become of 
me. Hunger, however, soon compelled me to think 
of some immediate mode of obtaining relief. I sat 

* “ Whom the gods wish to destroy they first deprive of 
understanding.” 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


17 


down upon a stone before the door of a baker’s 
shop: the smell of hot bread tempted me in, and 
with a feeble voice I demanded charity. 

“ The master baker gave me as much bread as 
I could eat, upon condition that I should change 
dresses with him, and carry the rolls for him 
through the city this day. To this I readily con¬ 
sented ; but I had soon reason to repent of my com¬ 
pliance. Indeed, if my ill luck had not, as usual, 
deprived me at the critical moment of memory and 
judgment, I should never have complied with the 
baker’s treacherous proposal. For some time be¬ 
fore the people of Constantinople had been much 
dissatisfied with the weight and quality of the bread 
furnished by the bakers. This species of discon¬ 
tent has often been the sure forerunner of an in¬ 
surrection; and in these disturbances the master 
bakers frequently lose their lives. All these circum¬ 
stances I knew; but they did not occur to my me¬ 
mory when they might have been useful. 

“ I changed dresses with the baker ; but scarcely 
had I proceeded through the adjoining street with 
my rolls, before the mob began to gather round me, 
with reproaches and execrations. The crowd pur¬ 
sued me even to the gates of the grand seignior’s 
palace; and the grand vizier, alarmed at their vio- 
2 * 


18 


POPULAR TALES. 


lence, sent out an order to have my head struck 
off; the usual remedy in such cases being to strike 
off the baker’s head. 

“ I now fell upon my knees, and protested I was 
not the baker for whom they took me; that I had 
no connexion with him; and that I had never fur¬ 
nished the people of Constantinople with bread that 
was not weight. I declared I had merely changed 
clothes with a master baker for this day; and that 
I should not have done so, but for the evil destiny 
which governs all my actions. Some of the mob 
exclaimed that I deserved to lose my head for my 
folly; but others took pity on me, and while the 
officer who was sent to execute the vizier’s order 
turned to speak to some of the noisy rioters, those 
who were touched by my misfortune opened a pas¬ 
sage for me through the crowd, and thus favoured 
I effected my escape. 

“ I quitted Constantinople : my vase I had left 
in the care of my brother. At some miles’ distance 
from the city I overtook a party of soldiers. I 
joined them ; and learning that they were going to 
embark with the rest of the grand seignior’s army 
for Egypt, I resolved to accompany them. If it be, 
thought I, the will of Mahomet that I should perish, 
the sooner I meet my fate the better. The despon- 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 19 

dency into which I was sunk was attended by so 
great a degree of indolence that I scarcely would 
take the necessary means to preserve my existence. 
During our passage to Egypt, I sat all day long 
upon the deck of the vessel, smoking my pipe; and 
I am convinced that if a storm had rise», as I ex¬ 
pected, I should" not have taken my pipe from my 
mouth: nor should I have handled a rope to save 
myself from destruction. Such is the effect of that 
species of resignation or torpor, whichever you 
please to call it, to which my strong belief in fa¬ 
tality had reduced my mind. 

“ We landed, however, safety, contrary to my 
melancholy forebodings. By a trifling accident, 
not worth relating, I was detained longer than any 
of my companions in the vessel when we disem¬ 
barked ; and I did not arrive at the camp at El 
Arish till late at night. It was moonlight, and I 
could see the whole scene distinctly. There was 
a vast number of small tents scattered over a desert 
of white sand; a few date-trees were visible at a 
distance; all was gloomy, and all still; no sound 
was to be heard but that of the camels feeding near 
the tents ; and as I walked on I met with no human 
creature. 

“ My pipe was now out, and I quickened my 


20 


POPULAR TALES. 


pace a little towards a fire, which I saw near one 
of the tents. As I proceeded, my eye was caught 
by something sparkling in the sand : it was a ring. 

I picked it up, and put it on my finger, resolving 
to give it to the public crier the next morning, who 
might find out its rightful owner : but by ill luck 
I put it on my little finger, for which it was much 
too large; and as I hastened towards the fire to 
light my pipe, I dropped the ring. I stooped to 
search for it among the provender on which a 
mule was feeding; and the cursed animal gave me 
so violent a kick on the head that I could not help 
roaring aloud. 

“ My cries awakened those who slept in the tent 
near which the mule was feeding. Provoked at 
being disturbed, the soldiers were ready enough to 
think ill of me; and they took it for granted that 
I was a thief, who had stolen the ring I pretended 
to have just found. The ring was taken from me 
by force; and the next day I was bastinadoed for 
having found it: the officer persisting in the belief 
that stripes would make me confess where I had 
concealed certain other articles of value, which had 
lately been missed in the camp. All this was the 
consequence of my being in a hurry to light my 
pipe, and of my having put the ring on a finger 


MURAD THE UNLUCKT. 21 

that was too little for it; which no one but Murad 
the Unlucky would have done. 

“ When I was able to walk again after my 
wounds were healed, I went into one of the tents 
distinguished by a red flag, having been told that 
these were coffee-houses. While I was drinking 
coffee I heard a stranger near me complaining that 
he had not been able to recover a valuable ring he 
had lost; although he had caused his loss to be 
published for three days by the public crier, offering 
a reward of two hundred sequins to whoever should 
restore it. I guessed that this was the very ring 
which I had unfortunately found. I addressed my¬ 
self to the stranger, and promised to point out to 
him the person who had forced it from me. The 
stranger recovered his ring ; and being convinced 
that I had acted honestly, he made me a present 
of two hundred sequins as some amends for the 
punishment which I had unjustly suffered on his 
account. 

“Now you would imagine that this purse of 
gold was advantageous to me: far the contrary; 
it was the cause of new misfortunes. 

“ One night, when I thought that the soldiers 
who were in the same tent with me were all fast 
asleep, I indulged myself in the pleasure of counting 


22 


POPULAR TALES. 


my treasure. The next day I was invited by my 
companions to drink sherbet with them. What 
they mixed with the sherbet which I drank I know 
not: but I could not resist the drowsiness it brought 
on. I fell into a profound slumber; and, when I 
awoke, I found myself lying under a date-tree, at 
some distance from the camp. 

“ The first thing I thought of, when I came to 
my recollection, was my purse of sequins. The 
purse I found still safe in my girdle ; but on open¬ 
ing it, I perceived that it was filled with pebbles, 
and not a single sequin was left. I had no doubt that 
I had been robbed by the soldiers with whom I had 
drunk sherbet; and I am certain that some of them 
must have been awake the night I counted my mo¬ 
ney : otherwise, as I had never trusted the secret 
of my riches to any one, they could not have sus¬ 
pected me of possessing any property; for, ever 
since I kept company with them, I had appeared to 
be in great indigence. 

“ I applied in vain to the superior officers for re¬ 
dress : the soldiers protested they were innocent; 
no positive proof appeared against them, and I 
gained nothing by my complaint but ridicule and 
ill-will. I called myself, in the first transport of 
my grief, by that name which, since my arrival in 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 23 

Egypt, I had avoided to pronounce : I called my¬ 
self Murad the Unlucky! The name and the story 
ran through the camp; and I was accosted after¬ 
ward, very frequently, by this appellation. Some 
indeed varied their wit, by calling me Murad with 
the purse of pebbles. 

“ All that I had yet suffered is nothing compared 
to my succeeding misfortunes. 

“ It was the custom at this time in the Turkish 
camp for the soldiers to amuse themselves with 
firing at a mark. The superior officers remon¬ 
strated against this dangerous practice,* but inef¬ 
fectually. Sometimes a party of soldiers would 
stop firing for a few minutes, after a message was 
brought them from their commanders ; and then 
they would begin again, in defiance of all orders. 
Such was the want of discipline in our army, that 
this disobedience went unpunished. In the mean 
time, the frequency of the danger made most men 
totally regardless of it. I have seen tents pierced 
with bullets, in which parties were quietly seated 
smoking their pipes; while those without were pre¬ 
paring to take fresh aim at the red flag on the top. 

“ This apathy proceeded, in some, from the un- 

* Antis’s Observations on the Manners and Customs of 
the Egyptians. 


24 


POPULAR TALES. 


conquerable indolence of body ; in others, from the 
intoxication produced by the fumes of tobacco and 
opium ; but in most of my brother Turks it arose 
from the confidence the belief in predestination in¬ 
spired. When a bullet killed one of their com¬ 
panions, they only observed, scarcely taking the 
pipes from their mouths, ‘ Our hour is not yet 
come ; it is not the will of Mahomet that we should 

fell.’ 

“ I own that this rash security appeared to me 
at first, surprising; but it soon ceased to strike me 
with wonder; and it even tended to confirm my 
favourite opinion, that some were born to good and 
some to evil fortune. I became almost as careless 
as my companions, from following the same course 
of reasoning. It is not, thought I, in the power of 
human prudence to avert the stroke of destiny, I 
shall perhaps die to-morrow; let me therefore 
enjoy to-day. 

“ I now made it my study, every day, to procure 
as much amusement as possible. My poverty, as 
you will imagine, restricted me from indulgence 
and excess ; but I soon found means to spend what 
did not actually belong to me. There were certain 
Jews, who were followers of the camp, and who, 
calculating on the probability of victory for our 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 25 

troops, advanced money to the soldiers ; for which 
they engaged to pay these usurers exorbitant in¬ 
terest. The Jew to whom I applied traded with 
me also upon the belief that my brother Salad in, 
with whose character and circumstances he was 
acquainted, would pay my debts, if I should fall. 
With the money I raised from the Jew I continually 
bought coffee and opium, of which I grew immode¬ 
rately fond. In the delirium it created, I forgot all 
my misfortunes, all fear of the future. 

44 One day, when I had raised my spirits by an 
unusual quantity of opium, I was strolling through 
the camp, sometimes singing, sometimes dancing, 
like a madman, and repeating that I was not now 
Murad the Unlucky. While these words were on 
my lips, a friendly spectator, who was in possession 
of his sober senses, caught me by the arm, and at¬ 
tempted to drag me from the place where I was 
exposing myself. 4 Do you not see,’ said he, ‘ those 
soldiers, who are firing at a mark ? I saw one of 
them, just now* deliberately taking aim at your 
turban; and, observe, he is now reloading his 
piece.’ My ill luck prevailed even at this instant, 
the only instant in my life when I defied its power. 
I struggled with my adviser, repeating, 4 1 am not 
the wretch you take me for ; I am not Murad the 
3 


26 


POPULAR TALES. 


Unlucky.’ He fled from the danger himself: I re¬ 
mained, and in a few seconds afterward a ball 
reached me, and I fell senseless on the sand. 

“ The ball was cut out of my body by an awk¬ 
ward surgeon, who gave me ten times more pain 
than was necessary. He was particularly hurried 
at this time, because the army had just received or¬ 
ders to march in a few hours, and all was confusion 
in the camp. My wound was excessively painful, 
and the fear of being left behind with those who 
were deemed incurable added to my torments. Per¬ 
haps, if I had kept myself quiet, I might have es¬ 
caped some of the evils I afterward endured; but, 
as I have repeatedly told you, gentlemen, it was 
my ill fortune never to be able to judge what was 
best to be done till the time for prudence was past. 

“ During that day, when my fever was at the 
height, and when my orders were to keep my bed, 
contrary to my natural habits of indolence, I rose a 
hundred'times and went out of my tent, in the very 
heat of the day, to satisfy my curiosity as to the 
number of tents which had not been struck, and of 
the soldiers who had not yet marched. The orders 
to march were tardily obeyed; and many hours 
elapsed before our encampment was raised. Had 
I submitted to my surgeon’s orders, I might have 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 27 

been in a state to accompany the most dilatory of 
the stragglers; I could have borne, perhaps, the slow 
motion of a litter, on which some of the sick were 
transported ; but in the evening, when the surgeon 
came to dress my wounds, he found me in such a 
situation that it was scarcely possible to remove me. 

“ He desired a party of soldiers, who were left to 
bring up the rear, to call for me the next morning. 
They did so ; but they wanted to put me upon the 
mule which I recollected, by a white streak on its 
back, to be the cursed animal that had kicked me 
while I was looking for the ring. I could not be 
prevailed upon to go upon this unlucky animal. I 
tried to persuade the soldiers to carry me, and they 
took me a little way ; but, soon growing weary of 
their burden, they laid me down on the sand, pre¬ 
tending that they were going to fill a skin with water 
at a spring they had discovered, and bade me lie 
still, and wait for their return. 

“ I waited and waited, longing for the water to 
moisten my parched lips ; but no water came—no 
soldiers returned; and there I lay, for several hours, 
expecting every moment to breathe my last. I 
made no effort to move, for I was now convinced 
my hour was come; and that it was the will of 
Mahomet that I should perish in this miserable man- 


28 


POPULAR TALES. 


ner, and lie unburied like a dog; a death, thought 
I, worthy of Murad the Unlucky. 

“ My forebodings were not this time just; a de¬ 
tachment of English soldiers passed near the place 
where I lay; my groans were heard by them, and 
they humanely came to my assistance. They car¬ 
ried me with them, dressed my wound, and treated 
me with the utmost tenderness. Christians though 
they were, I must acknowledge that I had reason 
to love them better than any of the followers of Ma¬ 
homet, my good brother only excepted. 

“ Under their care I recovered; but scarcely 
had I regained my strength before I fell into new 
disasters. It was hot weather, and my thirst was 
excessive. I went out, with a party, in hopes of 
finding a spring of water. The English soldiers 
began to dig for a well, in a place pointed out to 
them by one of their men of science. I was not in¬ 
clined to such hard labour, but preferred sauntering 
on in search of a spring. I saw at a distance some¬ 
thing that looked like a pool of water; and I pointed 
it out to my companions. Their man of science 
warned me, by his interpreter, not to trust to this 
deceitful appearance; for that such were common 
in this country, and that, when I came close to the 
spot, I should find no water there. He added, that 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


29 


it was at a greater distance than I imagined; and 
that I should, in all probability, be lost in the de¬ 
sert, if I attempted to follow this phantom. 

44 1 was so unfortunate as not to attend to his ad¬ 
vice : I set out in pursuit of this accursed delusion, 
which assuredly was the work of evil spirits, who 
clouded my reason, and allured me into their do¬ 
minion. I went on, hour after hour, in expectation 
continually of reaching the object of my wishes ; 
but it fled faster than I pursued, and I discovered 
at last that the Englishman, who had doubtless 
gained his information from the people of the coun¬ 
try, was right; and that the shining appearance 
which I had taken for water was a mere deception. 

44 1 was now exhausted with fatigue: I looked 
back in vain after the companions I had left; I could 
see neither men, animals, nor any trace of vegeta¬ 
tion in the sandy desert. I had no resource but, 
weary as I was, to measure back my footsteps, 
which were imprinted in the sand. 

44 1 slowly and sorrowfully traced them as my 
guides in this unknown land. Instead of yielding 
to my indolent inclinations, I ought, however, to 
have made the best of my way back before the even¬ 
ing breeze sprang up. I felt the breeze rising, and, 
unconscious of my danger, I rejoiced, and opened 
3 * 


30 


POPULAR TALES. 


my bosom to meet it; but what was my dismay 
when I saw that the wind swept before it all trace 
of my footsteps in the sand ! I knew not which 
way to proceed ; I was struck with despair, tore my 
garments, threw off my turban, and cried aloud ; 
but neither human voice nor echo answered me. 
The silence was dreadful. I had tasted no food for 
many hours, and I now became sick and faint. I 
recollected that I had put a supply of opium into the 
folds of my turban ; but, alas ! when I took my tur¬ 
ban up, I found that the opium had fallen out. I 
searched for it in vain on the sand where I had 
thrown the turban. 

“ I stretched myself out upon the ground, and 
yielded without further struggle to my evil destiny. 
What I suffered from thirst, hunger, and heat can¬ 
not be described. At last I fell into a sort of trance, 
during which images of various kinds seemed to flit 
before my eyes. How long I remained in this state 
1 know not; but I remember that I was brought to 
mv senses by a loud shout, which came from per¬ 
sons belonging to a caravan returning from Mecca. 
This was a shout of joy for their safe arrival at a 
certain spring, well known to them, in this part of 
the desert. 

“ The spring was not a hundred yards from the 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 31 

spot where I lay; yet, such had been the fate of 
Murad the Unlucky, that he missed the reality, 
while he had been hours in pursuit of* the phantom. 
Feeble and spiritless as I was, I sent forth as loud 
a cry as I could, in hopes of obtaining assistance ; 
and I endeavoured to crawl to the place from which 
the voices appeared to come. The caravan rested 
for a considerable time, while the slaves filled the 
skins with water, and while the camels took in their 
supply. I worked myself on towards them; yet, 
notwithstanding my efforts, I was persuaded that, 
according to my usual ill-fortune, I should never be 
able to make them hear my voice. I saw them 
mount their camels ! I took off my turban, unrolled 
it, and waved it in the air. My signal was seen 1 
the caravan came towards me! 

“ I had scarcely strength to speak; a slave gavt 
me some water; and, after I had drunk, I explained 
to them who I was, and how I came into this situa¬ 
tion. 

“ While I was speaking, one of the travellers ob¬ 
served the purse which hung to my girdle : it was 
the same the merchant for whom I recovered the 
ring had given to me; I had carefully preserved it, 
because the initials of my benefactor’s name and a 
passage from the Koran were worked upon it. 


32 


POPULAR TALES. 


When he gave it to me, he said that perhaps we 
should meet again in some other part of the world, 
and he should recognise me by this token. The 
person who now took notice of the purse was his 
brother; and, when I related to him how I had ob¬ 
tained it, he had the goodness to take me under his 
protection. He was a merchant, who was now 
going with the caravan to Grand Cairo : he offered 
to take me with him, and I willingly accepted the 
proposal, promising to serve him as faithfully as 
any of his slaves. The caravan proceeded, and I 
was carried with it. 


CHAPTER II. 

“ The merchant who was become my mas¬ 
ter treated me with great kindness; but, on hearing 
me relate the whole series of my unfortunate adven¬ 
tures, he exacted a promise from me that I would 
do nothing without first consulting him. ‘ Since 
you are so unlucky, Murad,’ said he, ‘ that you 
always choose for the worst when you choose for 
yourself, you should trust entirely to the judgment 
of a wiser or a more fortunate friend.’ 

“ I fared well in the service of this merchant, who 


/ 



MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 33 

was a man of a mild disposition, and who was so 
rich that he could afford to be generous to all his de¬ 
pendents. It was my business to see his camels 
loaded and unloaded at proper places, to count his 
bales of merchandise, and to take care that they 
were not mixed with those of his companions. 
This I carefully did till the day we arrived at Alex¬ 
andria ; when, unluckily, I neglected to count the 
bales, taking it for granted that they were all right, 
as I had found them so the preceding day. How¬ 
ever, when we were to go on board the vessel that 
was to take us to Cairo, I perceived that three bales 
of cotton were missing. 

“ I ran to inform my master, who, though a good 
deal provoked at my negligence, did not reproach 
me as I deserved. The public crier was immedi¬ 
ately sent round the city, to offer a reward for the 
recovery of the merchandise ; and it was restored 
by one of the merchants’ slaves with whom we had 
travelled. The vessel was now under sail; my 
master and I and the bales of cotton were obliged 
to follow in a boat; and when we were taken on 
board, the captain declared he was so loaded that he 
could not tell where to stow the bales of cotton. 
After much difficulty, he consented to let them re¬ 
main upon deck; and I promised my master to 
watch them night and day. 


34 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ We had a prosperous voyage, and were ac¬ 
tually in sight of shore, which the captain said we 
could not fail to reach early the next morning. I 
staid, as usual, this night upon deck ; and solaced 
myself by smoking my pipe. Ever since I had in¬ 
dulged in this practice at the camp at El Arish, I 
could not exist without opium and tobacco. I sup¬ 
pose that my reason was this night a little clouded 
with the dose I took; but towards midnight, I was 
sobered by terror. I started up from the deck on 
which I had stretched myself; my turban was in 
flames; the bale of cotton on which I had rested was 
on fire. I awakened two sailors, who were fast 
asleep on deck. The consternation became general, 
and the confusion increased the danger. The cap¬ 
tain and my master were the most active, and suf¬ 
fered the most in extinguishing the flames : my 
master was terribly scorched. 

“ For my part, I was not suffered to do anything: 
the captain ordered that I should be bound to the 
mast; and when at last the flames were extinguish¬ 
ed, the passengers, with one accord, besought him 
to keep me bound hand and foot, lest I should be 
the cause of some new disaster. All that had hap¬ 
pened was, indeed, occasioned by my ill-luck. I 
had laid my pipe down, when I was falling asleep, 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 35 

upon the bale of cotton that was beside me. The 
fire from my pipe, fell out, and set the cotton in 
flames. Such was the mixture of rage and terror 
with which I had inspired the whole crew, that I 
am sure they would have set me ashore on a de¬ 
sert island, rather than have had me on board for a 
week longer. Even my humane master, I could 
perceive, was secretly impatient to get rid of Murad 
the Unlucky and his evil fortune. 

“ You may believe I was heartily glad when we 
landed, and when I was unbound. My master put 
a purse containing fifty sequins into my hand, and 
bade me farewell. * Use this money prudently, 
Murad, if you can,’ said he, ‘ and perhaps your for¬ 
tune may change.’ Of this I had little hopes ; but 
determined to lay out my money as prudently as 
possible. 

“ As I was walking through the streets of Grand 
Cairo, considering how I should lay out my fifty 
sequins to the greatest advantage, I was stopped by 
one who called me by name, and asked me if I 
could pretend to have forgotten his face. I looked 
steadily at him, and recollected, to my sorrow, that 
he was the Jew Rachub, from whom I had borrow¬ 
ed certain sums of money at the camp at El Arish. 
What brought him to Grand Cairo, except it was 


36 


POPULAR TALES. 


my evil destiny, I cannot tell. He would not quit 
me ; he would take no excuses ; he said he knew 
that I had deserted twice, once from the Turkish 
and once from the English army; that I was not 
entitled to any pay; and that he could not imagine 
it possible that my brother Saladin would own me, 
or pay my debts. 

I replied, for I was vexed by the insolence of 
this Jewish dog, that I was not, as he imagined, a 
beggar; that I had the means of paying him my 
just debt, but that I hoped he would not extort from 
me all that exorbitant interest which none but a Jew 
could exact. He smiled, and answered that, if a 
Turk loved opium better than money, this was no 
fault of his ; that he had supplied me with what I 
loved best in the world; and that I ought not to com¬ 
plain when he expected I should return the favour. 

“ I will not weary you, gentlemen, with all the 
arguments that passed between me and Rachub. 
At last we compromised matters; he would take no¬ 
thing less than the whole debt: but he let me have 
at a very cheap rate a chest of second-hand clothes, 
by which he assured me I might make my fortune. 
He brought them to Grand Cairo, he said, for the 
purpose of selling them to slave-merchants ; who, 
at this time of the year, were in want of them to 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 37 

supply their slaves: but he was in haste to get home 
to his wife and family at Constantinople, and there¬ 
fore he was willing to make over to a friend the 
profits of this speculation. I should have distrusted 
Rachub’s professions of friendship, and especially of 
disinterestedness ; but he took me with him to the 
khan, where his goods were, and unlocked the 
chest of clothes to show them to me. They were 
of the richest and finest materials, and had been 
but little worn. I could not doubt the evidence of 
my senses; the bargain was concluded, and the 
Jew sent porters to my inn with the chest. 

“ The next day I repaired to the public market¬ 
place ; and, when my business was known, I had 
choice of customers before night: my chest was 
empty—and my purse was full. The profit I made 
upon the sale of these clothes was so considerable, 
that I could not help feeling astonishment at Ra¬ 
chub’s having brought himself so readily to relin¬ 
quish them. 

“ A few days after I had disposed of the contents 
of my chest, a Damascene merchant, who had 
bought two suits of apparel from me, told me, with 
a very melancholy face, that both the female slaves 
who had put on these clothes were sick. I could 
not conceive that the clothes were the cause of their 
4 


38 


POPULAR TALES. 


sickness; but, soon afterward, as I was crossing the 
market, I was attacked by at least a dozen mer¬ 
chants, who made similar complaints. They ir* 
sisted upon knowing how I came by the garments, 
and demanded whether I had worn any of them my¬ 
self. This day I had for the first time indulged 
myself with wearing a pair of yellow slippers, the 
only finery I had reserved for myself out of all the 
tempting goods. Convinced by my wearing these 
slippers that I could have no insidious designs, since 
I shared the danger, whatever it might be, the mer¬ 
chants were a little pacified; but what was my ter¬ 
ror and remorse, the next day, when one of them 
came to inform me that plague-boils had broken out 
under the arms of all the slaves who had worn this 
pestilential apparel. On looking carefully into the 
chest, we found the word Smyrna written, and half- 
effaced, upon the lid. Now the plague had for 
some time raged at Smyrna; and, as the merchants 
suspected, these clothes had certainly belonged to 
persons who had died of that distemper. This was 
the reason why the Jew was willing to sell them to 
me so cheap; and it was for this reason that he 
would not stay at Grand Cairo himself, to reap the 
profits of his speculation. Indeed, if I had paid at¬ 
tention to it at the proper time, a slight circumstance 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 39 

might have revealed the truth to me. While I was 
bargaining with the Jew, before he opened the chest, 
he swallowed a large dram of brandy, and stuffed 
his nostrils with sponge dipped in vinegar: this he 
told me he did to prevent his perceiving the smell 
of musk, which always threw him into convulsions. 

“ The horror I felt, when I discovered that I had 
spread the infection of the plague, and that I had 
probably caught it myself, overpowered my senses ; 
a cold dew spread over all my limbs, and I fell up¬ 
on the lid of the fatal chest in a swoon. It is said 
that fear disposes people to take the infection : how¬ 
ever this may be, I sickened that evening, and soon 
was in a raging fever. It was worse for me when¬ 
ever the delirium left me, and I could reflect upon 
the miseries my ill fortune had occasioned. In my 
first lucid interval, I looked round and saw that I 
had been removed from the khan to a wretched hut. 
An old woman, who was smoking her pipe in the 
farthest corner of my room, informed me that I had 
been sent out of the town of Grand Cairo by order 
of the cadi, to whom the merchants had made their 
complaint. The fatal chest was burnt, and the 
house in which I had lodged razed to the ground. 
‘And, if it had not been for me,’ continued the 
old woman, ‘ you would have been dead, pro- 


40 


POPULAR TALES. 


bably, at this instant; but I have made a vow to 
our great prophet, that I would never neglect an op¬ 
portunity of doing a good action : therefore, when 
you were deserted by all the world, I took care of 
you. Here too is your purse, which I saved from 
the rabble, and, what is more difficult, from the of¬ 
ficers of justice. I will account to you for every 
para that I have expended ; and will moreover tell 
you the reason of my making such an extraordi¬ 
nary vow.’ 

“ As I perceived that this benevolent old woman 
took great pleasure in talking, I made an inclination 
of my head to thank her for her promised history, 
and she proceeded; but I must confess 1 did not lis¬ 
ten with all the attention her narrative doubtless de¬ 
served. Even curiosity, the strongest passion of 
us Turks, was dead within me. I have no recol¬ 
lection of the old woman’s story. It is as much as 
I can do to finish my own. 

“ The weather became excessively hot: it was 
affirmed by some of the physicians, that this heat 
would prove fatal to their patients ;* but, contrary 
to the prognostics of the physicans, it stopped the 
progress of the plague. I recovered, and found my 

* Antis’s Observations on the Manners and Customs of 
the Egyptians. 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


41 


purse much lightened by my illness. I divided the 
remainder of my money with my humane nurse, 
and sent her out into the city, to inquire how mat¬ 
ters were going on. 

“ She brought me word that the fury of the plague 
had much abated; but that she had met several fune¬ 
rals, and that she had heard many of the merchants 
cursing the folly of Murad the Unlucky, who, as they 
said, had brought all this calamity upon the inhabit¬ 
ants of Cairo. Even fools, they say, learn by ex¬ 
perience. I took care to burn the bed on which I 
had lain, and the clothes I had worn : I concealed 
my real name, which I knew would inspire detes¬ 
tation, and gained admittance, with a crowd of 
other poor wretches, into a lazaretto, where I per¬ 
formed quarantine, and offered up prayers daily for 
the sick. 

“ When I thought it was impossible I could spread 
the infection, I took my passage home. I was ea¬ 
ger to get away from Grand Cairo, where I knew I 
was an object of execration. I had a strange fancy 
haunting my mind ; I imagined that all my misfor¬ 
tunes, since I left Constantinople, had arisen from 
my neglect of the talisman upon the beautiful china 
vase. I dreamed three times, when I was recover¬ 
ing from the plague, that a genius appeared to me, 
4* 


42 


POPULAR TALES. 


and said, in a reproachful tone, 4 Murad, where is 
the vase that was intrusted to thy care V 

** This dream operated strongly upon my imagi¬ 
nation. As soon as we arrived at Constantinople, 
which we did, to my great surprise, without meeting 
with any untoward accidents, I went in search of 
my brother Saladin, to inquire for my vase. He 
no longer lived in the house in which I left him, and 
I began to be apprehensive that he was dead ; but a 
porter, hearing my inquiries, exclaimed, ‘ Who is 
there in Constantinople that is ignorant of the dwell¬ 
ing of Saladin the Lucky 1 Come with me, and I 
will show it to you.’ 

“ The mansion to which he conducted me looked 
so magnificent, that I was almost afraid to enter lest 
there should be some mistake. But, while I was 
hesitating, the doors opened, and I heard my bro¬ 
ther Saladin’s voice. He saw me almost at the same 
instant that I fixed my eyes upon him, and imme¬ 
diately sprang forward to embrace me. He was 
the same good brother as ever, and I rejoiced in his 
prosperity with all my heart. ‘ Brother Saladin,’ 
said I, ‘can you now doubt that some men are born 
to be fortunate, and others to be unfortunate ? How 
often you used to dispute this point with me V 

“ * Let us not dispute it now in the public street,’ 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 43 

said he, smiling; * but come in and refresh yourself, 
and we will consider the question afterward at lei¬ 
sure.’ 

“ ‘ No, my dear brother,’ said I, drawing back, 
4 you are too good: Murad the Unlucky shall not 
enter your house, lest he should draw down misfor¬ 
tunes upon you and yours. I come only to ask 
for my vase.’ 

44 4 It is safe,’ cried he ; 4 come in, and you shall 
see it, but I will not give it up till I have you in my 
house. I have none of these superstitious fears: 
pardon me the expression, but I have none of these 
superstitious fears.’ 

44 1 yielded, entered his house, and was astonished 
at all I saw! My brother did not triumph in his 
prosperity; but, on the contrary, seemed intent only 
upon making me forget my misfortunes : he listened 
to the account of them with kindness, and obliged 
me by the recital of his history; which was, I must 
acknowledge, far less wonderful than my own. He 
seemed, by his own account, to have grown rich in 
the common course of things; or rather, by his own 
prudence. I allowed for his prejudices, and, unwil¬ 
ling to dispute further with him, said, 4 You must 
remain of your opinion, brother; and I of mine ; 
you are Saladin the Lucky, and I Murad the Un- 


44 


POPULAR TALES. 


lucky ; and so we shall remain to the end of our 
lives.’ 

“ I had not been in his house four days when an 
accident happened, which showed how much I was 
in the right. The favourite of the sultan, to whom 
he had formerly sold his china vase, though her 
charms were now somewhat faded by time, still re¬ 
tained her power, and her taste for magnificence. 
She commissioned my brother to bespeak for her, 
at Venice, the most splendid looking-glass that 
money could purchase. The mirror, after many 
delays and disappointments, at length arrived at 
my brother’s house. He unpacked it, and sent to 
let the lady know it was in perfect safety. It was 
late in the evening, and she ordered it should re¬ 
main where it was that night; and that it should be 
brought to the seraglio the next morning. It stood 
in a sort of antechamber to the room in which I 
slept; and with it were left some packages, con¬ 
taining glass chandeliers for an unfinished saloon 
in my brother’s house. Saladin charged all his do¬ 
mestics to be vigilant this night; because he had 
money to a great amount by him, and there had 
been frequent robberies in our neighbourhood. 
Hearing these orders, I resolved to be in readiness 
at a moment’s warning. I laid my scimitar beside 








- ' 




* 


h Lr.j" 

- 

■ 

■ 





* 


























































































































MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 45 

me upon a cushion ; and left my door half-open, 
that I might hear the slightest noise in the ante¬ 
chamber, or the great staircase. About midnight 
I was suddenly awakened by a noise in the ante¬ 
chamber. I started up, seized my scimitar, and the 
instant I got to the door, saw, by the light of the 
lamp which was burning in the room, a man stand¬ 
ing opposite to me, with a drawn sword in his hand. 
I rushed forward, demanding what he wanted, and 
received no answer; but, seeing him aim at me with 
his scimitar, I gave him, as I thought, a deadly 
blow. At this instant I heard a great crash ; and 
the fragments of the looking-glass, which I had 
shivered, fell at my feet. At the same moment 
something black brushed by my shoulder: I pur¬ 
sued it, stumbled over the packages of glass, and 
rolled over them down the stairs. 

“ My brother came out of his room, to inquire 
the cause of all this disturbance ; and when he saw 
the fine mirror broken, and me lying among the 
glass chandeliers at the bottom of the stairs, he could 
not forbear exclaiming, ‘ Well, brother! you are 
indeed Murad the Unlucky.’ 

“ When the first emotion was over, he could not, 
however, forbear laughing at my situation. With 
a degree of goodness which made me a thousand 


46 


POPULAR TALES. 


times more sorry for the accident, he came down 
stairs to help me up, gave me his hand, and said, 
‘ Forgive me, if I was angry with you at first. I 
am sure you did not mean to do me any injury; 
but tell me how all this has happened V 

“ While Saladin was speaking, I heard the same 
kind of noise which had alarmed me in the ante¬ 
chamber ; but, on looking back, I saw only a black 
pigeon, which flew swiftly by me, unconscious of 
the mischief he had occasioned. This pigeon I had 
unluckily brought into the house the preceding day ; 
and had been feeding and trying to tame it for my 
young nephews. I little thought it would be the 
cause of such disasters. My brother, though he 
endeavoured to conceal his anxiety from me, was 
much disturbed at the idea of meeting the favourite’s 
displeasure, who would certainly be grievously dis¬ 
appointed by the loss of her splendid looking-glass. 
I saw that I should inevitably be his ruin, if I con¬ 
tinued in his house; and no persuasions could pre¬ 
vail upon me to prolong my stay. My generous 
brother, seeing me determined to go, said to me, 
‘ A factor, whom I have employed for some years 
to sell merchandise for me, died a few days ago. 
Will you take his place ? Iam rich enough to bear 
ar * little mistakes you may fall into, from ignorance 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 47 

of business ; and you will have a partner who is 
able and willing to assist you. ’ 

“ I was touched to the heart by this kindness ; 
especially at such a time as this. He sent one of 
his slaves with me to the shop in which you now 
see me, gentlemen. The slave, by my brother’s 
directions, brought with us my china vase, and de¬ 
livered it safely to me, with this message: ‘ The 
scarlet dye that was found in this vase, and its fel¬ 
low, was the first cause of Saladin’s making the 
fortune he now enjoys; he therefore does no more 
than justice in sharing that fortune with his brother 
Murad.’ 

“ I was now placed in as advantageous a situation 
as possible; but my mind was ill at ease, when I 
reflected that the broken mirror might be my bro¬ 
ther’s ruin. The lady by whom it had been bespo¬ 
ken was, I well knew, of a violent temper ; and this 
disappointment was sufficient to provoke her to 
vengeance. My brother sent me word this morn¬ 
ing, however, that though her displeasure was 
excessive, it was in my power to prevent any ill 
consequences that might ensue. 4 In my power!’ 
I exclaimed; ‘ then, indeed, I am happy! Tell 
my brother there is nothing I will not do to show 
him my gratitude, and to save him from the con¬ 
sequences of my folly.’ 


48 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ The slave who was sent by my brother seemed 
unwilling to name what was required of me, saying 
that his master was afraid I should not like to grant 
the request. I urged him to speak freely, and he 
then told me the favourite declared nothing would 
make her amends for the loss of the mirror but the 
fellow vase to that which she had bought from Sa- 
ladin. It was impossible for me to hesitate ; gra¬ 
titude for my brother’s generous kindness overcame 
my superstitious obstinacy: and I sent him word 
1 would carry the vase to him myself. 

“ I took it down this evening, from the shelf on 
which it stood: it was covered with dust, and I 
washed it; but, unluckily, in endeavouring to clean 
the inside from the remains of the scarlet powder, 
I poured hot water into it, and immediately I heard 
a simmering noise, and my vase, in a few instants, 
burst asunder with a loud explosion. These frag¬ 
ments, alas! are all that remain. The measure 
of my misfortunes is now completed! Can you 
wonder, gentlemen, that I bewail my evil destiny ? 
Am I not justly called Murad the Unlucky ? Here 
end all my hopes in this world! Better would : 
have been if I had died long ago ! Better that I 
had never been born! Nothing I ever have done, 
or attempted, has prospered. Murad the Unlucky is 
my name, and ill-fate has marked me for her own.” 



MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


49 


CHAPTER III. 

The lamentations of Murad were interrupted by 
the entrance of Saladin. Having waited in vain 
for some hours, he now came to see if any disaster 
had happened to his brother Murad. He was sur¬ 
prised at the sight of the two pretended merchants ; 
and could not refrain from exclamations on be¬ 
holding the broken vase. However, with his usual 
equanimity and good-nature, he began to console 
Murad ; and taking up the fragments, examined 
them carefully one by one, joined them together 
again, found that none of the edges of the china 
were damaged, and declared he could have it 
mended so as to look as well as ever. 

Murad recovered his spirits upon this. “ Bro¬ 
ther,” said he, “ I comfort myself for being Murad 
the Unlucky, when I reflect that you are Saladin 
the Lucky. See, gentlemen,” continued he, turning 
to the pretended merchants, “ scarcely has this most 
fortunate of men been five minutes in company be¬ 
fore he gives a happy turn to affairs. His presence 
inspires joy : I observe your countenances, which 
had been saddened by my dismal history, have 
5 


50 


POPULAR TALES. 


brightened up since he has made his appearance. 
Brother, I wish you would make these gentlemen 
some amends for the time they have wasted in 
listening to my catalogue of misfortunes, by rela¬ 
ting your history, which I am sure, they will find 
rather more exhilarating.” 

Saladin consented, on condition that the strangers 
would accompany him home, and partake of a so¬ 
cial banquet. They at first repeated the former 
excuse of their being obliged to return to their inn: 
but at length the sultan’s curiosity prevailed, and he 
and his vizier went home with Saladin the Lucky, 
who, after supper, related his history in the fol¬ 
lowing manner. 

“ My being called Saladin the Lucky first in¬ 
spired me with confidence in myself: though I own 
that I cannot remember any extraordinary instances 
of good luck in my childhood. An old nurse of 
my mother’s, indeed, repeated to me twenty times 
a day, that nothing I undertook could fail to suc¬ 
ceed ; because I was Saladin the Lucky. I became 
presumptuous and rash; and my nurse’s prognos¬ 
tics might have effectually prevented their accom¬ 
plishment, had I not, when I was about fifteen, been 
roused to reflection during a long confinement, 
which was the consequence of my youthful conceit 
find imprudence. 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 51 

u . At this time there was at the Porte a French¬ 
man, an ingenious engineer, who was employed and 
favoured by the sultan, to the great astonishment 
of many of my prejudiced countrymen. On the 
grand seignior’s birthday, he exhibited some extra¬ 
ordinarily fine fireworks, and I, with numbers of 
the inhabitants of Constantinople, crowded to see 
them. I happened to stand near the place where 
the Frenchman was stationed ; the crowd pressed 
upon him, and I among the rest; he begged we 
would, for our own sakes, keep at a greater distance; 
and warned us that we might be much hurt by the 
combustibles which he was using. I, relying upon 
my good fortune, disregarded all these cautions; 
and the consequence was, that, as I touched some 
of the materials prepared for the fireworks, they 
exploded, dashed me upon the ground with great 
violence, and I was terribly burnt. 

“ This accident, gentlemen, I consider as one of 
the most fortunate circumstances of my life; for it 
checked and corrected the presumption of my tem¬ 
per. During the time I was confined to my bed, 
the French gentleman came frequently to see me. 
He was a very sensible man; and the conversations 
he had with me enlarged my mind, and cured me 
of many foolish prejudices: especially of that 


52 


POPULAR TALES. 


which I had been taught to entertain, concerning 
the predominance of what is called luck, or fortune, 
in human affairs. ‘ Though you are called Sala- 
din the Lucky,’ said he, * you find that your ne¬ 
glect of prudence has nearly brought you to the 
grave, even in the bloom of youth. Take my ad¬ 
vice, and henceforward trust more to prudence than 
to fortune. Let the multitude, if they will, call 
you Saladin the Lucky : but call yourself, and 
make yourself, Saladin the Prudent.’ 

“ These words left an indelible impression on 
my mind, and gave a new turn to my thoughts and 
character. My brother Murad has doubtless told 
you that our difference of opinion on the subject of 
predestination produced between us frequent argu¬ 
ments ; but we could never convince one another, 
and we each have acted, through life, in conse¬ 
quence of our different beliefs. To this I attribute 
my success and his misfortunes. 

“ The first rise of my fortune, as you have pro¬ 
bably heard from Murad, was owing to the scarlet 
dye, which I brought to perfection with infinite dif¬ 
ficulty. The powder, it is true, was accidentally 
found by me in our china vases; but there it might 
have remained to this instant, useless, if I had not 
taken the pains to make it useful. I grant that we 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 53 

can only partially foresee and command events : # 

yet on the use we make of our own powers, I think r 
depends our destiny. But, gentlemen, you would 
rather hear my adventures, perhaps, than my re¬ 
flections ; and I am truly concerned, for your sakes, 
that I have no wonderful events to relate. I am 
sorry I cannot tell you of my having been lost in 
a sandy desert. I have never had the plague, nor 
even been shipwrecked : I have been all my life an 
inhabitant of Constantinople, and have passed my 
time in a very quiet and uniform manner. 

“ The money I received from the sultan’s fa¬ 
vourite for my china vase, as my brother may have 
told you, enabled me to trade on a more extensive 
scale. I went on steadily with my business; and 
made it my whole study to please my employers, 
by all fair and honourable means. This industry 
and civility succeeded beyond my expectations; in 
a few years I was rich for a man in my way of 
business. 

“ I will not proceed to trouble you with the jour¬ 
nal of a petty merchant’s life ; I pass on to the in¬ 
cident which made a considerable change in my 
affairs. 

“ A terrible fire broke out near the walls of the 
5# 


54 


POPULAR TALES. 


I grand seignior’s seraglio :* as you are strangers, 
^\ , gentlemen, you may not have heard of this event, 
though it produced so great a sensation in Constan¬ 
tinople. The vizier’s superb palace was utterly 
consumed; and the melted lead poured down from 
the roof of the mosque of St. Sophia. Various were 
the opinions formed by my neighbours respecting 
the cause of the conflagration. Some supposed it 
to be a punishment for the sultan’s having ne¬ 
glected, one Friday, to appear at the mosque of St. 
Sophia; others considered it as a warning sent by 
Mahomet to dissuade the Porte from persisting in a 
war in which we were just engaged. The gene¬ 
rality, however, of the coffee-house politicians con¬ 
tented themselves with observing that it was the 
will of Mahomet that the palace should be con¬ 
sumed. Satisfied by this supposition, they took no 
precaution to prevent similar accidents in their own 
houses. Never were fires so common in the city 
as at this period; scarcely a night passed without 
our being wakened by the cry of fire. 

“ These frequent fires were rendered still more 
dreadful by villains, who were continually on the 
watch to increase the confusion by which they pro¬ 
fited, and to pillage the houses of the sufferers. It 


* Vide Baron de Tott’s Memoirs. 


MUKAD THE UNLUCKY. 


55 


was discovered that these incendiaries frequently 
skulked, towards evening, in the neighbourhood of 
the bezestein where the richest merchants store 
their goods; some of these wretches were detected 
in throwing coundaks ,* or matches, into the win¬ 
dows ; and, if these combustibles remained a suf¬ 
ficient time, they could not fail to set the house on 
fire. 

“ Notwithstanding all these circumstances, many 
even of those who had property to preserve con¬ 
tinued to repeat, ‘ It is the will of Mahometand 
consequently to neglect all means of preservation. 
I, on the contrary, recollecting the lesson I had 
learned from the sensible foreigner, neither suffered 

* “ A coundak is a sort of combustible that consists only 
of a piece of tinder wrapped in brimstone matches, in the 
midst of a small bundle of pine shavings. This is the method 
usually employed by incendiaries. They lay this match 
by stealth behind a door, which they find open, or in a win¬ 
dow ; and, after setting it on fire, they make their escape. 
This is sufficient often to produce the most terrible ravages 
in a town where the houses, built with wood and painted 
with oil of spike, afford the easiest opportunity to the mis¬ 
creant who is disposed to reduce them to ashes. This me¬ 
thod, employed by the incendiaries, and which often escapes 
the vigilance of the masters of the houses, added to the com¬ 
mon causes of fires, gave for some time very frequent causes 
of alarm .”—Translation of Memoirs of Baron de Tolt, vol. i. 


56 


POPULAR TALES. 


my spirits to sink with superstitious fears of ill luck, 
nor did I trust presumptously to my good fortune. 

I took every possible means to secure myself. I 
never went to bed without having seen that all the 
lights and fires in the house were extinguished; and 
that I had a supply of water in the cistern. I had 
likewise learned from my Frenchman that wet mor¬ 
tar was the most effectual thing for stopping the 
progress of flames: I therefore had a quantity of 
mortar made up, in one of my outhouses, which 
I could use at a moment’s warning. These pre¬ 
cautions were all useful to me; my own house, in¬ 
deed, was never actually on fire: but the houses of 
my next door neighbours were no less than five 
times in flames in the course of one winter. By my 
exertions, or rather by my precautions, they suffered 
but little damage; and all my neighbours looked 
upon me as their deliverer and friend : they loaded 
me with presents, and offered more indeed than 1 
would accept. All repeated that I was Saladin the 
Lucky. This compliment I disclaimed; feeling 
more ambitious of being called Saladin the Prudent. 
It is thus that what we call modesty is often only 
a more refined species of pride. But to proceed 
with my story. 

“ One night I had been later than usual at sup- 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 57 

per, at a friend’s house: none but the passevans. 
or watch, were in the streets; and even they, I be¬ 
lieve, were asleep. 

“ As I passed one of the conduits which convey 
water to the city, I heard a trickling noise; and, 
upon examination, I found that the cock of the 
water-spout was half-turned, so that the water was 
running out. I turned it back to its proper place, 
thought it had been left unturned by accident, and 
walked on; but I had not proceeded far before I 
came to another spout, and another, which were in 
the same condition. I was convinced that this 
could not be the effect merely of accident, and sus¬ 
pected that some ill-intentioned persons designed to 
let out and waste the water of the city, that there 
might be none to extinguish any fire that should 
break out in the course of the night. 

“ I stood still for a few moments, to consider how 
it would be most prudent to act. It would be im¬ 
possible for me to run to all parts of the city, that 
I might stop the pipes that were running to waste. 
I first thought of wakening the watch, and the fire¬ 
men, who were most of them slumbering at their 
stations; but I reflected that they were perhaps 
not to be trusted, and that they were in a confede¬ 
racy with the incendiaries; otherwise, they would 


58 


POPULAR TALES. 


certainly, before this hour, have observed and 
stopped the running of the sewers in their neigh¬ 
bourhood. I determined to waken a rich merchant, 
called Damat Zade, who lived near me, and who 
had a number of slaves, whom he could send to 
different parts of the city, to prevent mischief, and 
give notice to the inhabitants of their danger. 

“ He was a very sensible, active man, and one 
that could easily be wakened: he was not, like some 
Turks, an hour in recovering their lethargic senses. 
He was quick in decision and action; and his slaves 
resembled their master. He despatched a messen¬ 
ger immediately to the grand vizier, that the sul¬ 
tan’s safety might be secured; and sent others to 
the magistrates, in each quarter of Constantinople. 
The large drums in the janizary aga’s tower beat 
to rouse the inhabitants; and scarcely had this been 
heard to beat half an hour before the fire broke out 
in the lower apartments of Damat Zade’s house, 
owing to a coundak , which had been left behind 
one of the doors. 

“ The wretches who had prepared the mischief 
came to enjoy it, and to pillage : but they were dis¬ 
appointed. Astonished to find themselves taken 
into custody, they could not comprehend how their 
designs had been frustrated. By timely exertions, 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 59 

the fire in my friend’s house was extinguished; and 
though fires broke out, during the night, -in many 
parts of the city, but little damage was sustained, 
because there was time for precautions; and, by 
the stopping of the spouts, sufficient water was pre¬ 
served. People were awakened, and warned of the 
danger; and they consequently escaped unhurt. 

“ The next day, as soon as I made my appear¬ 
ance at the bezetstein, the merchants crowded round, 
called me their benefactor, and the preserver of their 
lives and fortunes. Damat Zade, the merchant 
whom I had awakened the preceding night, pre¬ 
sented to me a heavy purse of gold ; and put upon 
my finger a diamond ring of considerable value: 
each of the merchants followed his example, in ma¬ 
king me rich presents ; the magistrates also sent 
me tokens of their approbation; and the grand 
vizier sent me a diamond of the first water, with a 
line written by his own hand—‘ To the man who 
has saved Constantinople.’ Excuse me, gentlemen, 
for the vanity I seem to show in mentioning these 
circumstances. You desired to hear my history, 
and I cannot therefore omit the principal circum¬ 
stance of my life. In the course of four-and-twenty 
hours, I found myself raised, by the munificent 
gratitude of the inhabitants of this city, to a state of 



60 


POPULAR TALES. 


affluence far beyond what I had ever dreamed of 
attaining. 

“ I now took a house suited to my circumstances, 
and bought a few slaves. As I was carrying my 
slaves home, I was met by a Jew, who stopped me, 
saying, in his language, ‘ My lord, I see, has been 
purchasing slaves ; I could clothe them cheaply.’ 
There was something mysterious in the manner of 
this Jew, and I did not like his countenance; but I 
considered that I ought not to be governed by ca¬ 
price in my dealings, and that, if this man could real¬ 
ly clothe my slaves more cheaply than another, I 
ought not to neglect his offer merely because I took 
a dislike to the cut of his beard, the turn of his eye, 
or the tone of his voice. I therefore bade the Jew 
follow me home, saying that I would consider of his 
proposal. 

“ When we came to talk over the matter, I was 
surprised to find him so reasonable in his demands. 
On one point, indeed, he appeared unwilling to com¬ 
ply. I required, not only to see the clothes I was 
offered, but also to know how they came into his 
possession. On this subject he equivocated; I there¬ 
fore suspected there must be something wrong. I 
reflected what it could be, and judged that the goods 
had been stolen, or that they had been the apparel 



MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 61 

of persons who had died of some contagious distem¬ 
per. The Jew showed me a chest, from which he 
said I might choose whatever suited me best. I 
observed, that as he was going to unlock the chest, 
he stuffed his nose with some aromatic herbs. He 
told me that he did so to prevent his smelling the 
musk with which the chest was perfumed; musk, 
he said, had an extraordinary effect upon his nerves. 
I begged to have some of the herbs which he used 
himself; declaring that musk was likewise offensive 
to me. 

“ The Jew, either struck by his own conscience, 
or observing my suspicions, turned as pale as death. 
He pretended he had not the right key, and. could 
hot unlock the chest; said he must go in search of 
it, and that he would call on me again. 

“ After he had left me, I examined some writing 
upon the lid of the chest that had been nearly effaced. 
I made out the word Smyrna, and this was sufficient 
to confirm all my suspicions. The Jew returned 
no more: he sent some porters to carry away the 
chest, and I heard nothing of him for some time, 
till one day, when I was at the house of Damat 
Zade, I saw a glimpse of the Jew passing hastily 
through one of the courts, as if he wished to avoid 
me. ‘ My friend,’ said I to Damat Zade, ‘ do not 
6 


62 


POPULAR TALES. 


attribute my question to impertinent curiosity, or to 
a desire to intermeddle with your affairs, if I venture 
to ask the nature of your business with the Jew who 
has just now crossed your court V 

“ ‘ He has engaged to supply me with clothing 
hr my slaves, 5 replied my friend, ‘ cheaper than I 
san purchase it elsewhere. I have a design to sur¬ 
prise my daughter Fatima, on her birthday, with 
an entertainment in the pavilion in the garden ; and 
all her female slaves shall appear in new dresses 
on the occasion. 5 

“ I interrupted my friend, to tell him what I sus¬ 
pected relative to this Jew and his chest of clothes. 
It is certain that the infection of the plague can be 
communicated by clothes, not only after months but 
after years have elapsed. The merchant resolved 
to have nothing more to do with this wretch, who 
could thus hazard the lives of thousands of his fel¬ 
low-creatures for a few pieces of gold : we sent no¬ 
tice of the circumstance to the cadi, but the cadi was 
slow in his operations; and before he could take 
the Jew into custody, the cunning fellow had effect¬ 
ed his escape. When his house was searched, he 
and his chest had disappeared : we discovered that 
he sailed for Egypt, and rejoiced that we had driven 
him from Constantinople. 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 63 

“ My friend Damat Zade expressed the warmest 
gratitude to me. £ You formerly saved my fortune; 
you have now saved my life; and a life yet dearer 
than my own, that of my daughter Fatima.’ 

“ At the sound of that name I could not, I believe, 
avoid showing some emotion. I had accidentally 
seen this lady; and I had been captivated by her 
beauty, and by the sweetness of her countenance; 
but, as I knew she was destined to be the wife of 
another, I suppressed my feeling, and determined 
to banish the recollection of the fair Fatima for ever 
from my imagination. Her father, however, at this 
instant, threw into my way a temptation which it 
required all my fortitude to resist. £ Saladin,’ con¬ 
tinued he, £ it is but just that you, who have saved 
our lives, should share our festivity. Come here on 
the birthday of my Fatima: I will place you in a 
balcony, which overlooks the garden, and you shall 
see the whole spectacle. We shall have a feast of 
tulips ; in imitation of that which, as you know, is 
held in the grand seignor’s gardens. I assure you, 
the sight will be worth seeing; and besides, you will 
have a chance of beholding my Fatima, for a mo¬ 
ment, without her veil.’ 

££ £ That,’ interrupted I, £ is the thing I most wish 
to avoid. I dare not indulge myself in a pleasure 


64 


POPULAR TALES. 


which might cost me the happiness of my life. I 
will conceal nothing from you, who treat me with 
so much confidence. I have already beheld the 
charming countenance of your Fatima; but I know 
that she is destined to be the wife of a happier man.’ 

44 Damat Zade seemed much pleased by the frank¬ 
ness with which I explained myself; but he would 
not give up the idea of my sitting with him, in the 
balcony, on the day of the feast of tulips : and I, 
on my part, could not consent to expose myself to 
another view of the charming Fatima. My friend 
used every argument, or rather every sort of per¬ 
suasion, he could imagine to prevail upon me: he 
then tried to laugh me out of my resolution; and 
when all failed, he said, in a voice of anger, 4 Go 
then, Saladin; I am sure you are deceiving me: 
you have a passion for some other woman, and you 
would conceal it from me, and persuade me you re¬ 
fuse the favour I offer you from prudence, when, in 
fact, it is from indifference and contempt. Why 
could you not speak the truth of your heart to me 
with that frankness with which one friend should 
treat another V 

44 Astonished at this unexpected charge, and at 
the anger which flashed from the eyes of Damat 
Zade, who, till this moment, had always appeared 



MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 65 

to me a man of a mild and reasonable temper, I was 
for an instant tempted to fly into a passion and leave 
him : but friends once lost are not easily regained. 
This consideration had power sufficient to make me 
command my temper. ‘ My friend,’ replied I, ‘ we 
will talk over this affair to-morrow : you are now 
angry, and cannot do me justice; but to-morrow 
you will be cool: you will then be convinced that 
I have not deceived you; and that I have no design 
but to secure my own happiness by the most pru¬ 
dent means in my power, by avoiding the sight of 
the dangerous Fatima. I have no passion for any 
other woman.’ 

“ * Then,’ said my friend, embracing me, and 
quitting the tone of anger which he had assumed 
only to try my resolution to the utmost, ‘ then, Sa¬ 
lad in, Fatima is yours.’ 

“I scarcely dared to believe my senses! I could 
not express my joy! 4 Yes, my friend!’ continued 

the merchant, ‘ I have tried your prudence to the 
utmost; it has been victorious, and I resign my 
Fatima to you, certain that you will make her 
happy. It is true, I had a greater alliance in view 
for her: the Pacha of Maksoud has demanded her 
from me; but I have found, upon private inquiry, 
he is addicted to the intemperate use of opium: and 
6 * 


66 


POPULAR TALES. 


my daughter shall never be the wife of one who is 
a violent madman one-half the day, and a melan¬ 
choly idiot during the remainder. I have nothing 
to apprehend from the pacha’s resentment, because 
I have powerful friends with the grand vizier, who 
will oblige him to listen to reason, and to submit 
quietly to a disappointment he so justly merits. 
And now, Saladin, have you any objection to seeing 
the feast of tulips V 

“ I replied only by falling at the merchant’s feet, 
and embracing his knees. The feast of tulips came, 
and on that day I was married to the charming 
Fatima! The charming Fatima I continue still to 
think her, though she has now been my wife some 
years. She is the joy and pride of my heart; and, 
from our mutual affection, I have experienced more 
felicity than from all the other circumstances of my 
life, which are called so fortunate. Her father gave 
me the house in which I now live, and joined his 
possessions to ours; so that I have more wealth 
even than I desire. My riches, however, give me 
continually the means of relieving the wants of 
others; and therefore I cannot affect to despise them. 
I must persuade my brother Murad to share them 
with me, and to forget his misfortunes: I shall then 
think myself completely happy. As to the sultana’s 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 67 

looking-glass, and your broken vase, my dear bro¬ 
ther,” continued Saladin, “ we must think of some 
means—” 

“ Think no more of the sultana’s looking-glass, 
or of the broken vase,” exclaimed the sultan, 
throwing aside his merchant’s habit, and showing 
beneath it his own imperial vest. “ Saladin, I re¬ 
joice to have heard from your own lips, the history 
of your life. I acknowledge, vizier, I have been 
in the wrong in our argument,” continued the sul¬ 
tan, turning to his vizier. “ I acknowledge that 
the histories.of Saladin the Lucky and Murad the 
Unlucky favour your opinion, that prudence has 
more influence than chance in human affairs. The 
success and happiness of Saladin seem to me to have 
arisen from his prudence: by that prudence Con¬ 
stantinople has been saved from flames, and from 
the plague. Had Murad possessed his brother’s 
discretion he would not have been on the point of 
losing his head for selling rolls which he did not 
bake: he would not have been kicked by a mule, 
or bastinadoed for finding a ring: he would not 
have been robbed by one party of soldiers, or shot 
by another: he would not have been lost in a de¬ 
sert, or cheated by a Jew: he would not have set 
a ship on fire: nor would he have caught the plague, 


68 


POPULAR TALES. 


and spread it through Grand Cairo: he would not 
have run my sultana’s looking-glass through the 
body, instead of a robber: he would not have be¬ 
lieved that the fate of his life depended on certain 
verses on a china vase: nor would he, at last, have 
broken this precious talisman by washing it with 
hot water. Henceforward, let Murad the Unlucky 
be named Murad the Imprudent: let Saladin pre¬ 
serve the surname he merits, and be henceforth 
called Saladin the Prudent.” 

So spake the sultan, who, unlike the generality 
of monarchs, could bear to find himself in the 
wrong: and could discover his vizier to be in the 
right without cutting off his head. History further 
informs us that the sultan offered to make Saladin 
a pacha, and to commit to him the government of 
a province; but Saladin the Prudent declined this 
honour; saying he had no ambition, was perfectly 
happy in his present situation, and that when this 
was the case it would be folly to change, because 
no one can be more than happy. What further 
adventures befell Murad the Imprudent are not re¬ 
corded ; it is known only that he became a daily 
visiter to the Teriaky ; and that he died a martyr 
to the immoderate use of opium.* 

* Those among the Turks who give themselves up to an 
immoderate use of opium are easily to be distinguished by 


MURAD THE UNLUCKY. 


69 


a sort of rickety complaint, which this poison produces in 
course of time. Destined to live agreeably only when in a 
sort of drunkenness, these men present a curious spectacle 
when they are assembled in a part of Constantinople called 
Teriak, or Tcharkissy; the market of opium-eaters. It is 
there that towards the evening you may see the lovers of 
opium arrive by the different streets which terminate at the 
Solymania (the greatest mosque in Constantinople): their 
pale and melancholy countenances would inspire only com¬ 
passion, did not their stretched necks, their heads twisted 
to the right or left, their backbones crooked, one shoulder 
up to their ears, and a number of other whimsical attitudes 
which are the consequences of the disorder, present the 
most ludicrous and the most laughable picture.— Vide De 
Tott’s Memoirs. 


January 1802 . 


























THE MANUFACTURERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

Bv patient, persevering attention to business, Mr. 
John Darford succeeded in establishing a con¬ 
siderable cotton manufactory, by means of which 
he secured to himself in his old age what is called, 
or what he called, a competent fortune. His ideas 
of a competent fortune were, indeed, rather unfa¬ 
shionable ; for they included, as he confessed, only 
the comforts and conveniences, without any of the 
vanities of life. He went further still in his unfa¬ 
shionable singularities of opinion, for he was often 
heard to declare that he thought a busy manufacturer 
might be as happy as an idle gentleman. 

Mr. Darford had taken his two nephews, Charles 
and William, into partnership with him. William, 
who had been educated by him, resembled him in 
character, habits, and opinions. Always active 
and cheerful, he seemed to take pride und pleasure 


72 


POPULAR TALES. 


in the daily exertions and care which his situation 
and the trust reposed in him required. Far from 
being ashamed of his occupations, he gloried in 
them : and the sense of duty was associated in his 
mind with the idea of happiness. His cousin 
Charlqs, on the contrary, felt his duty and his ideas 
of happiness continually at variance: he had been 
brought up in an extravagant family, who consi¬ 
dered tradesmen and manufacturers as a caste dis¬ 
graceful to polite society. Nothing but the utter 
ruin of his father’s fortune could have determined 
him to go into business. 

He never applied to the affairs of the manufac¬ 
tory ; he afFected to think his understanding above 
such vulgar concerns, and spent his days in regret¬ 
ting that his brilliant merit was buried in obscurity. 

He was sensible that he hazarded the loss of his 
uncle’s favour by the avowal of his prejudices; yet 
such was his habitual conceit, that he could not 
suppress frequent expressions of contempt for Mr. 
Darford’s liberal notions. Whenever his uncle’s 
opinion differed from his own, he settled the argu¬ 
ment, as he fancied, by saying to himself, or to his 
clerk, “ My uncle Darford knows nothing of the 
world: how should he, poor man! shut up as he 
has been all his life in a counting-house?” 



THE MANUFACTURERS. 73 

Nearly sixty years’ experience, which his uncle 
sometimes pleaded as an apology for trusting to his 
own judgment, availed nothing in the opinion of 
our prejudiced youth. 

Prejudiced youth, did we presume to say ? 
Charles would have thought this a very improper 
expression; for he had no idea that any but old 
men could be prejudiced. Uncles, and fathers, and 
grandfathers were, as he thought, the race of beings 
peculiarly subject to this mental malady; from 
which all young men, especially those who have 
their boots made by a fashionable boot-maker, are 
of course exempt. 

At length the time came when Charles was at 
liberty to follow his own opinions: Mr. Darford 
died, and his fortune and manufactory were equally 
divided between his two nephews. “ Now,” said 
Charles, “ I am no longer chained to the oar. I 
will leave you, William, to do as you please, and 
drudge on, day after day, in the manufactory, since 
that is your taste: for my part, I have no genius 
for business. I shall take my pleasure; and all I 
have to do is to pay some poor devil for doing my 
business for me.” 

‘ s I am afraid the poor devil will not do your 
business as well as you would do it yourself,” said 

7 


74 POPULAR TALES. 

William : “ you know the proverb of the master’s 
eye.” 

“ True! true ! Very likely,” cried Charles, 
going to the window to look at a regiment of dra¬ 
goons galloping through the town; “but I have 
other employment for my eyes. Do look at those 
fine fellows who are galloping by! Did you ever 
see a handsomer uniform than the colonel’s ? And 
what a fine horse! ’Gad ! I wish I had a commis¬ 
sion in the army : I should so like to be in his place 
this minute.” 

“This minute? Yes, perhaps you would; be¬ 
cause he has, as you say, a handsome uniform and 
a fine horse; but all his minutes may not be like 
this minute.” 

“ Faith, William, that is almost as soberly said 
as my old uncle himself could have spoken. See 
what it is to live shut up with old folks! You 
catch all their ways, and grow old and wise before 
your time.” 

“ The danger of growing wise before my time 
does not alarm me much: but perhaps, cousin, you 
feel that danger more than I do ?” 

“ Not I,” said Charles, stretching himself still 
farther out of the window, to watch the dragoons, 
as they were forming on the parade in the market- 



THE MANUFACTURERS. 75 

place. “ I can only say, as I said before, that I 
wish I had been put into the army instead of into 
this cursed cotton manufactory. Now the army is 
a genteel profession, and I own I have spirit enough 
to make it my first, object to look and live like a 
gentleman.” 

“ And I have spirit enough,” replied William, 
“ to make it my first object to look and live like an 
independent man ; and I think a manufacturer, 
whom you despise so much, may be perfectly in¬ 
dependent. I am sure, for my part, I am heartily 
obliged to my uncle for breeding me up to busi¬ 
ness ; for now I am at no man’s orders; no one 
can say to me, ‘ Go to the east, or go to the west; 
march here, or march there; fire upon this man, 
or run your bayonet into that.’ I do not think the 
honour and pleasure of wearing a red coat, or of 
having what is called a genteel profession, would 
make me amends for all that a soldier must suffer 
if he does his duty. Unless it were for the defence 
of my country, for which I hope and believe I should 
fight as well as another, I cannot say that I should 
like to be hurried away from my wife and children 
to fight a battle against a people with whom I have 
no quarrel, and in a cause which perhaps I might 
not approve.” 


76 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ Well, as you say, William, you that have a 
wife and children are quite in a different situation 
from me. You cannot leave them, of course. 
Thank my stars, I am still at liberty; and I shall 
take care and keep myself so ; my plan is to live 
for myself, and to have as much pleasure as I pos¬ 
sibly can.” 

Whether this plan of living for himself was com¬ 
patible with the hopes of having as much pleasure 
as possible, we leave it to the heads and hearts of 
our readers to decide. In the mean time we must 
proceed with his history. 

Soon after this conversation had passed between 
the two partners, another opportunity occurred of 
showing their characters still more distinctly. 

A party of ladies and gentlemen travellers came 
to the town, and wished to see the manufactories 
there. They had letters of recommendation to the 
Mr. Darfords; and William, with great good-nature, 
took them to see their works. He pointed out to 
them with honest pride the healthy countenances 
of the children whom they employed. 

“ You see,”- said he, “ that we cannot be re¬ 
proached with sacrificing the health and happiness 
of our fellow-creatures to our own selfish and mer¬ 
cenary views. My good uncle took all the means 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 77 

in his power to make every person concerned in 
this manufactory as happy as possible; and I hope 
we shall follow his example. I am sure the riches 
of both the Indies could not satisfy me, if my con¬ 
science reproached me with having gained wealth 
by unjustifiable means. If these children were 
overworked, or if they had not fresh air and whole¬ 
some food, it would be the greatest misery to me 
to come into this room and look at them. I could 
not do it. But, on the contrary, knowing, as I do, 
that they are well treated and well provided for in 
every respect, I feel joy and pride in coming among 
them, and in bringing my friends here.” 

William’s eyes sparkled as he thus spoke the ge¬ 
nerous sentiments of his heart; but Charles, who 
had thought himself obliged to attend the ladies of 
the party to see the manufactory, evidently showed 
he was ashamed of being considered as a partner. 
William, with perfect simplicity, went on to explain 
every part of the machinery, and the whole process 
of the manufacture; while his cousin Charles, who 
thought he should that way show his superior libe¬ 
rality and politeness, every now and then interposed 
with, “Cousin, I’m afraid we are keeping the 
ladies too long standing. Cousin, this noise must 
certainly annoy the ladies horridly. Cousin, all 
7* 


78 


POPULAR TALES. 


this sort of thing cannot be very interesting, I ap¬ 
prehend, to the ladies. Besides, they won’t have 
time at this rate to see the china works ; which is 
a style of thing more to their taste, I presume.” 

The fidgeting impatience of our hero was ex¬ 
treme ; till at last he gained his point, and hurried 
the ladies away to the china works. Among these 
ladies there was one who claimed particular atten¬ 
tion, Miss Maude Germaine, an elderly young 
lady , who, being descended from a high family, 
thought herself entitled to be proud. She was yet 
more vain than proud, and found her vanity in some 
degree gratified by the officious attention of her 
new acquaintance, though she affected to ridicule 
him to her companions when she could do so unob¬ 
served. She asked them in a whisper, how they 
liked her new cicerone; and whether he did not 
show the lions very prettily, considering who and 
what he was ? 

It has been well observed that “ people are never 
ridiculous by what they are, but by what they pre¬ 
tend to be.” # These ladies, with the best dispositions 
imaginable for sarcasm, could find nothing to laugh 
at in Mr. William Darford’s plain unassuming man- 


* Rochefoucault. 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 79 

ners: as he did not pretend to be a fine gentleman, 
there was no absurd contrast between his circum¬ 
stances and his conversation; while almost every 
word, look, or motion of his cousin was an object 
of ridicule, because it was affected. His being ut¬ 
terly unconscious of his foibles, and perfectly secure 
in the belief of his own gentility, increased the amuse¬ 
ment of the company. Miss Maude Germaine 
undertook to play him off, but she took sufficient 
care to prevent his suspecting her design. As they 
were examining the beautiful china, she continually 
appealed to Mr. Charles Darford as a man of taste; 
and he, with awkward gallantry, and still more 
awkward modesty, always began his answers by 
protesting he was sure Miss Maude Germaine was 
infinitely better qualified to decide in such matters 
than he was ; he had not the smallest pretensions 
to taste; but that, in his humble opinion, the articles 
she pitched upon were evidently the most superior 
in elegance, and certainly of the newest fashion. 
“ Fashion, you know, ladies, is all in all in these 
things, as in every thing else.” 

Miss Germaine, with a degree of address which 
afforded much amusement to herself and her com¬ 
panions, led him to extol or reprobate whatever she 
pleased; and she made him pronounce an absurd 


80 


POPULAR TALES. 


eulogium on the ugliest thing in the room, by ob¬ 
serving it was vastly like what her friend Lady 
Mary Crawley had just bought for her chimney- 
piece. 

Not content with showing she could make our 
man of taste decide as she thought proper, she was 
determined to prove that she could make him re¬ 
verse his own decisions, and contradict himself as 
often as she pleased. They were at this instant 
standing opposite to two vases of beautiful work¬ 
manship. “ Now,” whispered she to one of her 
companions, “ I will lay you any wager I first make 
him say that both those vases are frightful; and that 
they are charming; afterward that he does not know 
which he likes best; next, that no person of any 
taste can hesitate between them ; and at last when 
he has pronounced his decided humble opinion, he 
shall reverse his judgment, and protest he meant to 
say quite the contrary.” 

All this the lady accomplished much to her satis¬ 
faction and to that of her friends ; and, so blind and 
deaf is self-love, our hero neither heard nor saw 
that he was the object of derision. William, how¬ 
ever, was rather more clear-sighted; and as he 
could not bear to see his cousin make himself the 
butt of the company, he interrupted the conversation, 


TIIE MANUFACTURERS. 81 

by begging the ladies would come into another room 
to look at the manner in which the china was 
painted. Charles, with a contemptuous smile, ob¬ 
served that the ladies would probably find the odour 
of the paint rather too much for their nerves. Full 
of the sense of his own superior politeness, he fol¬ 
lowed ; since it was determined that they must go, 
as he said, nolens volens. He did not hear Miss 
Germaine whisper to her companions as they passed, 
“ Can any thing in nature be much more ridiculous 
than a vulgar manufacturer who sets up for a fine 
gentleman ?” 

Among the persons who were occupied in paint¬ 
ing a set of china with flowers, there was one who 
attracted particular attention, by the ease and quick¬ 
ness with which she worked. An iris of her paint¬ 
ing was produced, which won the admiration of all 
the spectators; and while Charles was falling into 
ecstasies about the merit of the painting, and the 
perfection to which the arts are now carried in Eng¬ 
land, William was observing the flushed and un¬ 
healthy countenance of the young artist. He 
stopped to advise her not to overwork herself, to 
beg she would not sit in a draught of wind where 
she was placed, and to ask her with much humanity 
several questions concerning her health and her 
circumstances. 


82 


POPULAR TALES. 


While he was speaking to her, he did not perceh e 
that he had set his foot by accident on Miss Ger¬ 
maine’s gown; and, as she walked hastily on, it 
was torn in a deplorable manner. Charles apolo¬ 
gized for his cousin’s extreme absence of mind and 
rudeness: and with a candid condescension added, 
“ Ladies, you must not think ill of my cousin Wil¬ 
liam, because he is not quite so much your humble 
servant as I am: notwithstanding his little rusticities, 
want of polish, gallantry, and so forth,—things that 
are not in every man’s power,—I can assure you 
there is not a better man in the world ; except that 
he is so entirely given up to business, which indeed 
ruins a man for every thing else.” 

The apologist little imagined he was at this mo¬ 
ment infinitely more awkward and ill-bred than the 
person whom he affected to pity and to honour with 
his protection. Our hero continued to be upon the 
best terms possible with himself and with 'Miss 
Maude Germaine during the remainder of this day. 
He discovered that his lady intended to pass a fort¬ 
night with a relation of hers in the town of-. 

He waited upon her the next day, to give her an 
account of the manner in which he had executed 
some commissions about the choice of china with 
which she had honoured him. 



the manufacturers. 83 

One visit led to another; and Charles Darford 
was delighted to find himself admitted into the so¬ 
ciety of such very genteel persons. At first, he 
was merely proud of being acquainted with a lady 
of Miss Maude Germaine’s importance; and con¬ 
tented himself with boasting of it to all his acquaint¬ 
ance ; by degrees, he became more audacious; he 
began to fancy himself in love with her, and to 
flatter himself she would not prove inexorable. 
The raillery of some of his companions piqued him 
to make good his boast; and he determined to pay 
his addresses to a lady who, they all agreed, could 
never think of a man in business. 

Our hero was not entirely deluded by his vanity: 
the lady’s coquetry contributed to encourage his 
hopes. Though she always spoke of him to her 
friends as a person whom it was impossible she 
could ever think of for a moment, yet as soon as 
he made a declaration of his love to her, she began 
to consider that a manufacturer might have com¬ 
mon sense, and even some judgment and taste. 
Her horror of people in business continued in full 
force; but she began to allow there was no ge¬ 
neral rule that did not admit of an exception. 
When her female friends laughed, following the 
example she had set them, at Charles Darford her 


84 


POPULAR TALES. 


laughter became fainter than theirs; and she was 
one evening heard to ask a stranger, who saw him 
for the first time, whether that young gentleman 
looked as if he was in business ? 

Sundry matters began to operate in our hero’s 
favour; precedents, opportunely produced by her 
waiting-maid, of ladies of the first families in Eng¬ 
land, ladies even of the first fashion, who had mar¬ 
ried into mercantile houses; a present too, from 
her admirer of the beautiful china vase of which 
she had so often made him change his opinion, had 
its due effect; but the preponderating motive was 
the dread of dying an old maid, if she did not ac¬ 
cept of this offer. 

After various airs, and graces, and doubts, and 
disdains, this fair lady consented to make her lover 
happy, on the express conditions that he should 
change his name from Darford to Germaine, that 
he should give up all share in the odious cotton 
manufactory, and that he should purchase the es¬ 
tate of Germaine-park, in Northamptonshire, to 
part with which, as it luckily happened, some of 
her great relations were compelled. 

In the folly of his joy at the prospect of an al¬ 
liance with the great Germaine family, he promised 
every thing that was required of him; notwith- 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 85 

standing the remonstrances of his friend William, 
who represented to him, in the forcible language of 
common sense, the inconveniences of marrying into 
a family that would despise him; and of uniting 
himself to such an old coquette as Miss Germaine, 
who would make him not only a disagreeable but 
a most extravagant wife. 

“ Do you not see,” said he, “ that she has not 
the least affection for you ? she marries you only 
because she despairs of getting any other match ; 
and because you are rich, and she is poor. She 
is seven years older than you, by her own confes¬ 
sion, and consequently will be an old woman while 
you are a young man. She is, as you see—I mean 
as I see—vain and proud in the extreme; and if 
she honours you with her hand, she will think you 
can never do enough to make her amends for hav¬ 
ing married beneath her pretensions. Instead of 
finding in her, as I find in my wife, the best and 
most affectionate of friends, you will find her your 
torment through life; and consider, this is a tor¬ 
ment likely to last these thirty or forty years. Is 
it not worth while to pause—to reflect for as many 
minutes, or even days ?” 

Charles paused double the number of seconds, 
perhaps, and then replied, “You have married to 
8 


86 


POPULAR TALES. 


please yourself, cousin William, and I shall marry 
to please myself. As I don’t mean to spend my 
days in the same style in which you do, the same 
sort of wife that makes you happy could never con¬ 
tent me. I mean to make some figure in the world; 
I know no other use of fortune; and an alliance 
with the Germaines brings me at once into fashion¬ 
able society. Miss Maude Germaine is very proud, 
I confess; but she has some reason to be proud of 
her family ; and then, you see, her love for me 
conquers her pride, great as it is.” 

William sighed, when he saw the extent of his 
cousin’s folly. The partnership between the two 
Darfords was dissolved. 

It cost our hero much money, but no great trou¬ 
ble, to get his name changed from Darford to Ger¬ 
maine, and it was certainly very disadvantageous 
to his pecuniary interest to purchase Germaine- 
park, which was sold to him for at least three years’ 
purchase more than its value; but in the height of 
his impatience to get into the fashionable world, all 
prudential motives appeared beneath his considera¬ 
tion. It was, as he fancied, part of the character of 
a man of spirit, the character he was now to assume 
and support for life, to treat pecuniary matters as 
below his notice. He bought Germaine-park, mar* 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 87 

ried Miss Germaine, and determined no mortal 
should ever find out, by his equipages or style of 
life, that he had not been born the possessor of this 
estate. 

In this laudable resolution it cannot possibly be 
doubted but that his bride encouraged him to the ut¬ 
most of her power. She was eager to leave the 
country where his former friends and acquaintance 
resided; for they were people with whom, of course, 
it could not be expected that she should keep up any 
manner of intercourse. Charles, in whose mind 
vanity at this moment smothered every better feel¬ 
ing, was in reality glad of a pretext for breaking 
off all connexion with those whom he had formerly 
loved. He went to take leave of William in a fine 
chariot, on which the Germaine arms were osten¬ 
tatiously blazoned. That real dignity which arises 
from a sense of independence of mind appeared 
in William’s manners ; and quite overawed and 
abashed our hero, in the midst of all his finery and 
airs. “ I hope, cousin William,” said Charles, 
“ when you can spare time—though, to be sure, 
that is a thing hardly to be expected, as you are si¬ 
tuated,—but, in case you should be able any ways to 
make it convenient, I hope you will come and take a 
look at what we are doing at Germaine-park.” 


88 


POPULAR TALES. 


There was much awkward embarrassment in the 
enunciation of this feeble invitation; for Charles 
was conscious he did not desire it should be accept¬ 
ed, and that it was made in direct opposition to the 
wishes of his bride. He was at once relieved from 
his perplexity, and at the same time mortified, by 
the calm simplicity with which William replied, “ I 
thank you, cousin, for this invitation : but you know 
I should be an encumbrance to you at Germaine- 
park; and I make it a rule neither to go into any 
company that would be ashamed of me, or of which 
I should be ashamed.” 

“ Ashamed of you ! But—What an idea, my 
dear William! Surely you don’t think—you can’t 
imagine—I should ever consider you as any sort of 
encumbrance ?—I protest—” 

“ Save yourself the trouble of protesting, my dear 
Charles,” cried William, smiling with much good¬ 
nature : “ I know why you are so much embar¬ 
rassed at this instant; and I do not attribute this to 
any want of affection for me. We are going to lead 
quite different lives. I wish you all manner of sa¬ 
tisfaction. Perhaps the time may come when I shall 
be able to contribute to your happiness more than 
I can at present.” 

Charles uttered some unmeaning phrases, and 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 89 

hurried to his carriage. At the sight of its varnished 
panels he recovered his self-complacency and cou¬ 
rage ; and began to talk fluently about chariots and 
horses, while the children of the family followed to 
take leave of him, saying, “ Are you going quite 
away, Charles ? Will you never come back to play 
with us, as you used to do ?” 

Charles stepped into his carriage with as much 
dignity as he could assume; which, indeed, was 
very little. William, who judged of his friends al¬ 
ways with the most benevolent indulgence, excused 
the want of feeling which Charles betrayed during 
this visit. “ My dear,” said he to his wife, who 
expressed some indignation at the slight shown to 
their children, 44 we must forgive him; for, you 
know, a man cannot well think of more than one 
thing at a time; and the one thing that he is think¬ 
ing of is his fine chariot. The day will come when 
he will think more of fine children ; at least I hope 
so, for his own sake.” 

And now, behold our hero in all his glory; shi¬ 
ning upon the Northamptonshire world in the 
splendour of his new situation! The dress, the equi¬ 
page, the entertainments, and, above all, the airs 
of the bride and bridegroom, were the general sub¬ 
ject of conversation in the county for ten days. 

8 * 


90 


POPULAR TALES. 


Our hero, not precisely knowing what degree of im¬ 
portance Mr. Germaine of Germaine-park was en¬ 
titled to assume, out-Germained Germaine. 

The country gentlemen first stared, then laughed, 
and at last unanimously agreed, over their bottle, 
that this new neighbour of theirs was an upstart, 
who ought to be-kept down; and that a vulgar 
manufacturer should not be allowed to give him¬ 
self airs merely because he had married a proud 
lady of good family. It was obvious, they said, 
he was not born for the situation in which he now 
appeared. They remarked and ridiculed the os¬ 
tentation with which he displayed every luxury in 
his house ; his habit of naming the price of every 
thing, to enforce its claim to admiration; his af¬ 
fected contempt for economy; his anxiety to con¬ 
nect himself with persons of rank; joined to his ig¬ 
norance of the genealogy of nobility, and the 
strange mistakes he made between old and new 
titles. 

Certain little defects in his manners, and some 
habitual vulgarisms in his conversation, exposed 
him also to the derision of his well-bred neighbours. 
Mr. Germaine saw that the gentlemen of the county 
were leagued against him; but he had neither tem¬ 
per nor knowledge of the world sufficient to wage 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 91 

this unequal war. The meanness with which he 
alternately attempted to court and to bully his ad¬ 
versaries showed them, at once, the full extent of 
their power, and of his weakness. 

Things were in this position when our hero un¬ 
luckily affronted Mr. Cole, one of the proudest 
gentlemen in the county, by mistaking him for a 
merchant of the same name; and, under this mis¬ 
take, neglecting to return his visit. A few days 
afterward, at a public dinner, Mr. Cole and Mr. 
Germaine had some high words, which were re¬ 
peated by the persons present in various manners; 
and this dispute became the subject of conversation 
in the county, particularly among the ladies. 
Each related, according to her fancy, what her 
husband had told her: and, as these husbands had 
drunk a good deal, they had not a perfectly clear 
recollection of what had passed ; so that the whole 
and every part of the conversation was exaggera¬ 
ted. The fair judges, averse as they avowed their 
feelings were to duelling, were clearly of opinion, 
among themselves, that a real gentleman would 
certainly have called Mr. Cole to account for the 
words he uttered ; though none of them could agree 
what those words were. 

Mrs. Germaine’s female friends, in their coteries, 


92 


POPULAR TALES. 


were the first to deplore, with becoming sensibility, 
that she should be married to a man who had so 
little the spirit as well as the manners of a man of 
birth. Their pity became progressively vehement 
the more they thought of, or at least the more they 
talked of, the business; till at last one old lady, 
the declared and intimate Mend of Mrs. Germaine, 
unintentionally, and in the heat of tattle, made use 
of one phrase that led to another, and another, 
till she betrayed, in conversation with that lady, the 
gossiping scandal of these female circles. 

Mrs. Germaine, piqued as her pride was, and 
though she had little affection for her husband, 
would have shuddered with horror to have ima¬ 
gined him in the act of fighting a duel; and espe¬ 
cially at her instigation: yet of this very act she 
became the cause. In their domestic quarrels, her 
tongue was ungovernable: and at such moments 
the malice of husbands and wives often appears to 
exceed the hatred of the worst of foes; and, in the 
ebullition of her vengeance, when his reproaches 
had stung her beyond the power of her temper to 
support, unable to stop her tongue, she vehemently 
told him he was a coward, who durst not so talk 
to a man! He had proved himself a coward; and 
was become the by-word and contempt of the whole 
county. Even women despised his cowardice. 




















































































































































































































































































































































































































* 



THE MANUFACTURERS. 93 

However astonishing it may appear to those who 
are unacquainted with the nature of quarrels be¬ 
tween man and wife, it is but too certain that such 
quarrels have frequently led to the most fatal con¬ 
sequences. The agitation of mind which Mrs. Ger¬ 
maine suffered the moment she could recollect what 
she had so rashly said, her vain endeavours to 
prove to herself that, so provoked, she could not 
say less, and the sudden effect which she plainly 
saw her words had produced upon her husband, 
were but a part of the punishment that always fol¬ 
lows conduct and contentions so odious. 

Mr. Germaine gazed at her a few moments, with 
wildness in his eyes: his countenance expressed 
the stupefaction of rage: he spoke not a word ; but 
started at length, and snatched up his hat. She 
was struck with panic terror, gave a scream, sprang 
after him, caught him by the coat, and, with the 
most violent protestations, denied the truth of all 
she had said. The look he gave her cannot be de¬ 
scribed ,* he rudely plucked the skirt from her 
grasp, and rushed out of the house. 

All day and all night she neither saw nor heard 
of him: in the morning he was brought home, ac¬ 
companied by a surgeon, in the carriage of a gen¬ 
tleman who had been his second, dangerously 
wounded. 


94 


POPULAR TALES. 


He was six weeks confined to his bed ; and, 
the first moment of doubt expressed by the surgeon 
for his life, she expressed contrition which was 
really sincere: but, as he recovered, former bick¬ 
erings were renewed; and the terms on which 
they lived, gradually became what they had been. 

Neither did his duel regain that absurd reputa¬ 
tion for which he fought; it was malignantly said 
he had neither the courage to face a man nor the 
understanding to govern a wife. 

Still, however, Mrs. Germaine consoled herself 
with the belief that the most shocking circumstance 
of his having been partner in a manufactory was 
a profound secret. Alas ! the fatal moment arrived 
when she was to be undeceived in this her last hope. 
Soon after Mr. Germaine recovered from his 
wounds, she gave a splendid ball; to which the 
neighbouring nobility and gentry were invited. 
She made it a point, with all her acquaintance, to 
come on this grand night. 

The more importance the Germaines set upon 
success, and the more anxiety they betrayed, the 
more their enemies enjoyed the prospect of their 
mortification. All the young belles who had de¬ 
tested Miss Maude Germaine for the airs she used 
to give herself at country assemblies, now leagued 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 95 

to prevent their admirers from accepting her invi¬ 
tation. All the married ladies whom she had out¬ 
shone in dress and equipage protested they were 
not equal to keep up an acquaintance with such 
prodigiously fine people; and that, for their part, 
they must make a rule not to accept of such expen¬ 
sive entertainments, as it was not in their power to 
return them. 

Some persons of consequence in the county kept 
their determination in doubt, suffered themselves to 
be besieged daily with notes and messages, and 
hopes that their imaginary coughs, headaches, and 
influenzas were better, and that they would find 
themselves able to venture out on the 15th. When 
the coughs, headaches, and influenzas could hold 
out no longer, these ingenious tormentors devised 
new pretexts for supposing it would be impossible 
to do themselves the honour of accepting Mr. and 
Mrs. Germaine’s obliging invitation on the 15th. 
Some had recourse to the roads, and others to the 
moon. 

Mrs. Germaine, whose pride was now compelled 
to make all manner of concessions, changed her 
night from the 15th to the 20th ,* to ensure a full 
moon to those timorous damsels whom she had 
known to go home nine miles from a ball the dark- 


96 


rOPULAR TALES. 


est night imaginable, without scruple or complaint. 
Mr. Germaine, at his own expense, mended some 
spots in the roads, which were obstacles to the de¬ 
licacy of other travellers ; and, when all this was 
accomplished, the haughty leaders of the county 
fashions condescended to promise they would do 
themselves the pleasure to wait upon Mr. and Mrs. 
Germaine on the 20th. 

Their cards of acceptation were shown with tri¬ 
umph by the Germaines; but it was a triumph of 
short duration. With all the refinement of cruelty, 
they gave hopes which they never meant to fulfil. 
On the morning, noon, and night of the 20th, notes 
poured in with apologies, or rather with excuses, 
for not keeping their engagements. Scarcely one 
was burnt before another arrived. Mrs. Germaine 
could not command her temper; and she did not 
spare her husband in this trying moment. 

The arrival of some company for the ball inter¬ 
rupted a warm dispute between the happy pair. 
The ball was very thinly attended ; the guests 
looked as if they were more inclined to yawn than 
to dance. The supper-table was not half-filled; 
and the profusion with which it was laid out was 
forlorn and melancholy: every thing was on too 
grand a scale for the occasion; wreaths of flowers, 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 97 

and pyramids, and triumphal arches, sufficient for 
ten times as many guests! Even the most incon¬ 
siderate could not help comparing the trouble and 
expense incurred by the entertainment with the 
small quantity of pleasure it produced. Most of 
the guests rose from the table, whispering to one 
another, as they looked at the scarcely-tasted dishes, 
“ What a waste ! What a pity ! Poor Mrs. Ger¬ 
maine ! What a melancholy sight this must be to 
her!” 

The next day, a mock heroic epistle, in verse, in 
the character of Mrs. Germaine, to one of her noble 
relations, giving an account of her ball and disap¬ 
pointment, was handed about, and innumerable co¬ 
pies were taken. It was written with some humour 
and great ill-nature. The good old lady who oc¬ 
casioned the duel thought it but friendly to show 
Mrs. Germaine a copy of it; and to beg she wou ld 
keep it out of her husband’s way : it might be the 
cause of another duel! Mrs. Germaine, in spite of 
all her endeavours to conceal her vexation, was ob¬ 
viously so much hurt by this mock heroic epistle, 
that the laughers were encouraged to proceed; and 
the next week a ballad, entitled the manufacturer 
turned gentleman, was circulated with the same 
injunctions to secrecy, and the same success. Mr. 

9 


93 


POPULAR TALES. 


and Mrs. Germaine, perceiving themselves to be 
the objects of continual enmity and derision, deter¬ 
mined to leave the county. Germaine-park was for¬ 
saken ; a house in London was bought; and, for 
a season or two, our hero was amused with the 
gayeties of the town, and gratified by finding him¬ 
self actually moving in that sphere of life to which 
he had always aspired. But he soon perceived that 
the persons whom, at a distance, he had regarded 
as objects of admiration and envy, upon a nearer 
view were capable of exciting only contempt or pity. 
Even in the company of honourable and right ho¬ 
nourable men he was frequently overpowered with 
ennui ; and, among all the fine acquaintances with 
which his fine wife crowded his fine house, he looked 
in vain for a friend : he looked in vain for a William 
Darford. 

One evening, at Ranelagh, Charles happened to 
hear the name of Mr. William Darford pronounced 
by a Jady who was walking behind him : he turned 
eagerly to look at her; but, though he had a con¬ 
fused recollection of having seen her face before, 
he could not remember when or where he had met 
with her. He felt a wish to speak to her, that he 
might hear something of those friends whom he had 
neglected, but not forgotten. He was not, however, 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 99 

acquainted with any of the persons with whom she 
was walking, and was obliged to give up his pur¬ 
pose. When she left the room, he followed her, 
in hopes of learning from her servants who she was; 
but she had no servants—no carriage ! 

Mrs. Germaine, who clearly inferred she was a 
person of no consequence, besought her husband 
not to make any further inquiries. “ I beg, Mr. 
Germaine, 'you will not gratify your curiosity about 
the Darfords at my expense. I shall have a whole 
tribe of vulgar people upon my hands, if you do not 
take care. The Darfords, you know, are quite out 
of our line of life, especially in town.” 

This remonstrance had a momentary effect upon 
Mr. Germaine’s vanity; but a few days afterward 
he met the same lady in the park, attended by Mr. 
William Darford’s old servant. Regardless of his 
lady’s representations, he followed the suggestions 
of his own heart, and eagerly stopped the man to 
inquire after his friends in the most affectionate 
manner. The servant, who was pleased to see that 
Charles was not grown quite so much a fine gentle¬ 
man as to forget all his friends in the country, be¬ 
came very communicative ,* he told Mr. Germaine 
that the lady whom he was attending was a Miss 
Locke, governess to Mr. William Darford’s child- 


100 


POPULAR TALES. 


ren ; and that she was now come to town to spend 
a few days with a relation, who had been very 
anxious to see her. This relation was not either 
rich or genteel; and though our hero used every 
persuasion to prevail upon his lady to show Miss 
Locke some civility while she was in town, he could 
not succeed. Mrs. Germaine repeated her former 
phrase, again and again, “ The Darfords are quite 
out of our line of lifeand this was the only rea¬ 
son she would give. 

Charles was disgusted by the obstinacy of his 
wife’s pride, and indulged his better feelings by go¬ 
ing frequently to visit Miss Locke. She stayed, how¬ 
ever, but a fortnight in town; and the idea of his 
friends, which had been strongly recalled by his 
conversations with her, gradually faded away. He 
continued the course of life into which he had been 
forced, rather from inability to stop than from in¬ 
clination to proceed. Their winters were spent in 
dissipation in town ; their summers wasted at w r a- 
tering-places, or in visits to fine relations, who were 
tired of their company, and who took but little pains 
to conceal this sentiment. Those who do not live 
happily at home can seldom contrive to live respect¬ 
ably abroad. Mr. and Mrs. Germaine could not 
purchase esteem, and never earned it from the world 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 101 

or from one another. Their mutual contempt in¬ 
creased every day. Only those who have lived 
with bosom friends whom they despise can fully 
comprehend the extent and intensity of the evil. 

We spare our readers the painful detail of do¬ 
mestic grievances and the petty mortifications of 
vanity : from the specimens we have already given 
they may form some idea, but certainly not a com¬ 
petent one, of the manner in which this ill-matched 
pair continued to live together for twelve long years. 
Twelve long years ! The imagination cannot dis¬ 
tinctly represent such a period of domestic suffering; 
though, to the fancy of lovers, the eternal felicity 
to be ensured by their union is an idea perfectly 
familiar and intelligible. Perhaps, if we could 
bring our minds to dwell more upon the hours, and 
less upon the years of existence, we should make 
fewer erroneous judgments. Our hero and heroine 
would never have chained themselves together for 
life, if they could have formed an adequate picture 
of the hours contained in the everlasting period of 
twelve years of wrangling. During this time, 
scarcely an hour, certainly not a day, passed in 
which they did not, directly or indirectly, reproach 
one another; and tacitly form, or explicitly express, 
9* 


102 


POPULAR TALES. 


the wish that they had never been joined in holy 
wedlock. 

They, however, had a family. Children are 
either the surest bonds of union between parents, 
or the most dangerous causes of discord. If parents 
agree in opinion as to the management of their chil¬ 
dren, they must be a continually increasing source 
of pleasure: but where the father counteracts the 
mother, and the mother the father—where the chil¬ 
dren cannot obey or caress either of their parents 
without displeasing the other, what can they become 
but wretched little hypocrites, or detestable little 
tyrants ? * 

Mr. and Mrs. Germaine had two children, a boy 
and a girl. From the moment of their birth they 
became subjects of altercation and jealousy. The 
nurses were obliged to decide whether the infants 
were most like the father or the mother : two nurses 
lost their places by giving what was in Mr. Gei- 
maine’s opinion an erroneous decision upon this im¬ 
portant question. Every stranger who came to 
pay a visit was obliged to submit to a course of in¬ 
terrogations on this subject; and afterward, to their 
utter confusion, saw biting of lips and tossing of 
heads, either on the paternal or maternal side. At 
last it was established that Miss Maude was the most 



THE MANUFACTURERS. 103 

like her mamma, and Master Charles the most like 
his papa. Miss Maude, of course, became the fault¬ 
less darling of her mother ; and Master Charles the 
mutinous favourite of his father. A comparison 
ljetween their features, gestures, and manners was 
daily instituted, and always ended in words of scorn 
from one party or the other. Even while they 
were pampering these children with sweetmeats, 
or inflaming them with wine, the parents had al¬ 
ways the same mean and selfish views. The mo¬ 
ther, before she would let her Maude taste the sweet¬ 
meats, insisted upon the child’s lisping out that she 
loved mamma best; and before the little Charles was 
permitted to carry the bumper of wine to his lips, he 
was compelled to say he loved papa best. In all 
their childish quarrels, Maude ran roaring to her 
mamma, and Charles sneaked up to his papa. 

As the interests of the children were so deeply 
concerned in the question, it was quickly discovered 
who ruled in the house with the strongest hand. 
Mr. Germaine’s influence over his son diminished as 
soon as the boy was clearly convinced that his sis¬ 
ter, by adhering to her mamma, enjoyed a larger 
share of the good things. He was wearied out by 
the incessant rebuffs of the nursery-maids, who 
were all in their lady’s interests; and he endea- 


104 


POPULAR TALES. 


voured to find grace in their sight by recanting all 
the declarations he had made in his father’s favour. 
“ I don’t like papa best now: I love mamma best 
to-day.” 

“ Yes, master, but you must love mamma best 
every day, or it won’t do, I promise you.” 

By such a course of nursery precepts, these un¬ 
fortunate children were taught equivocation, false¬ 
hood, envy, jealousy, and every fault of temper 
which could render them insupportable to them¬ 
selves and odious to others. Those who have lived 
in the house with spoiled children must have a 
lively recollection of the degree of torment they 
can inflict upon all who are within sight or hearing. 
These domestic plagues became more and more ob¬ 
noxious ; and Mrs. Germaine, in the bitterness of 
her heart, was heard to protest she wished she had 
never had a child! Children were pretty things 
at three years old; but began to be great plagues 
at six, and were quite intolerable at ten. 

Schools, and tutors, and governesses were tried 
without number ; but those capricious changes 
served only to render the pupils still more unma¬ 
nageable. At length Mr. and Mrs. Germaine’s chil¬ 
dren became so notoriously troublesome that every 
body dreaded the sight of them. 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 105 

One summer, when Mrs. Germaine was just set¬ 
ting out on a visit to my Lady Mary Crawley, when 
the carriage was actually at the door, and the trunks 
tied on, an express arrived from her ladyship with 
a letter, stipulating that neither Miss Maude nor 
Master Charles should be of the party. Lady Mary 
declared she had suffered so much from their noise, 
quarrelling, and refractory tempers when they were 
with her the preceding summer, that she could not 
undergo such a trial again ; that their mother’s 
nerves might support such, things, but that hers 
really could not: besides, she could not, in justice 
and politeness to the other friends who were to be 
m her house, sutler them to be exposed to such tor¬ 
ments. Lady Mary Crawley did not give herself, 
any trouble to soften her expressions, because she 
would have been really glad if they had given of¬ 
fence, and if Mrs. Germaine had resented her con¬ 
duct, by declining to pay that annual visit which 
was now become, in the worst sense of the word, 
visitation. To what meanness proud people are 
often forced to submit! Rather than break her reso¬ 
lution never to spend another summer at her own 
country-seat, Mrs. Germaine submitted to all the 
haughtiness of her Leicestershire relations; and 
continued absolutely to force upon them visits which 
she knew to be unwelcome. 


106 


POPULAR TALES. 


But what was to be done about her children? 
The first thing, of course,was to reproach her hus¬ 
band. “ You see, Mr. Germaine, the effect of the 
pretty education you have given that boy of yours. 
I am sure, if he had not gone with us last summer 
into Leicestershire, my Maude would not have 
been in the least troublesome to Lady Mary.” 

“ On the contrary, my dear, I have heard Lady 
Mary herself say, twenty times, that Charles was 
the best of the two; and I am persuaded, if Maude 
had been away, the boy would have become quite 
a favourite.” 

“ There you are utterly mistaken, I can assure 
you, my dear; for you know you are no great fa- 
•vourite of Lady Mary’s yourself; and I have often 
heard her say that Charles is your image.” 

“ It is very extraordinary that all your great re¬ 
lations show us so little civility, my dear. They 
do not seem to have much regard for you.” 

“ They have regard enough for me, and showed 
it formerly; but of late, to be sure, I confess, things 
are altered. They never have been so cordial 
since my marriage; and, all things considered, I 
scarcely know how to blame them.” 

Mr. Germaine bowed, by way of thanking his 
lady for this compliment. She besought him not 



THE MANUFACTURERS. 107 

to bow so like a man behind a counter, if he could 
possibly help it. He replied, it became him to sub¬ 
mit to be schooled by a wife who was often taken 
for his mother. At length, when every species of 
reproach, mental and personal, which conjugal anti¬ 
pathy could suggest, had been exhausted, the ora¬ 
tors recurred to the business of the day, and to the 
question, “What is to be done with the children 
while we are at Lady Mary Crawley’s V 1 


CHAPTER II. 

In this embarrassment we must leave the Ger¬ 
maines for the present, and refresh ourselves with 
a look at a happy circle—the family of Mr. Dar- 
ford, where there is no discordance of opinions, of 
tastes, or of tempers; none of those evils which 
arise sometimes from the disappointment, and some¬ 
times from the gratification of vanity and pride. 

Mr. Darford succeeded beyond his most sanguine 
expectations in the management of his business. 
Wealth poured in upon him; but he considered 
wealth, like a true philosopher, only as one of the 
means of happiness; he did not become prodigal 



108 


POPULAR TALES. 


or avaricious ; neither did he ever feel the slightest 
ambition to quit his own station in society. He 
never attempted to purchase from people of supe¬ 
rior rank admission into their circles, by giving 
luxurious and ostentatious entertainments. He pos¬ 
sessed a sturdy sense of his own value, and com¬ 
manded a species of respect very different from 
that which is paid to the laced livery or the var¬ 
nished equipage. 

The firmness of his character was, however, 
free from all severity: he knew how to pardon in 
others the weakness and follies from which he was 
himself exempt. Though his cousin was of such 
a different character, and though, since his mar¬ 
riage, Mr. Germaine had neglected his old friends, 
William felt more compassion for his unhappiness 
than resentment for his faults. In the midst of 
his own family, William would often say, “ I wish 
poor Charles may ever be as happy as we are!” 
Frequently, in his letters to London correspondents, 
he desired them to inquire privately how Mr. Ger¬ 
maine went on. 

For some time he heard of nothing but his ex¬ 
travagance, and of the entertainments given to the 
fine world by Mrs. Germaine; but in the course 
of a few years his correspondents hinted that Mr. 


THE MANUFACTURERS, 109 

Germaine began to be distressed for money, and 
that this was a secret which had been scrupulously 
kept from his lady, as scrupulously as she con¬ 
cealed from him her losses at play. Mr. Darford 
also learned from a correspondent who was in¬ 
timately acquainted with one of Mrs. Germaine’s 
friends, that this lady lived upon very bad terms 
with her husband; and that her children were 
terribly spoiled by the wretched education they 
received. 

These accounts gave William sincere concern: 
far from triumphing in the accomplishment of his 
prophecies, he never once recalled them to the 
memory even of his own family; all his thoughts 
were intent upon saving his friend from future 
pain. 

One day as he was sitting with his family round 
their cheerful tea-table, his youngest boy, who had 
climbed upon his knees, exclaimed, “ Papa! what 
makes you so very grave to-night? You are not 
at all like yourself! What can make you sorry?” 

“ My dear little boy,” said his father, “ I was 
thinking of a letter I received to-day from London.” 

“ I wish those letters would never come, for 
they always make you look sad, and make you 
sigh! Mamma, why do you not desire the ser- 
10 


no 


POPULAR TALES. 


vants not to bring papa any more such letters? 
What did this letter say to you, papa, to make you 
so grave?” 

“ My dear,” said his father, smiling, at the 
child’s simplicity, “ this letter told me that your 
little cousin Charles is not quite so good a boy as 
you are.” 

“ Then, papa, I will tell you what to do: send 
our Miss Locke to cousin Charles, and she will 
soon make him very good.” 

“ l dare say she would,” replied the father, 
laughing, “ but, my dear boy, I cannot send Miss 
Locke; and 1 am afraid she would not like to go: 
besides, we should be rather sorry to part with 
her.” 

“ Then, papa, suppose you were to send for my 
cousin, and Miss Locke could take care of him 
here, without leaving us.” 

“ Could take care of him—true; but would she ? 
If you can prevail upon her to do so, I will send 
for your cousin.” 

The proposal, though playfully made, was se¬ 
riously accepted by Miss Locke: and the more 
willingly, as she remembered, with gratitude, the 
attention Mr. Germaine had paid to her some years 
before, when with poor relations in London. 


THE MANUFACTURERS. Ill 

Mr. Darford wrote immediately to invite his 
cousin’s children to his house: the invitation was 
most gladly accepted, for it was received the very 
day when Mr. and Mrs. Germaine were so much 
embarrassed by Lady Mary Crawley’s absolute re¬ 
fusal to admit these children into her house. Mrs. 
Germaine was not too proud to accept of favours 
from those whom she had treated as beneath her 
acquaintance, “ quite out of her line of life !” She 
despatched her children directly to Mr. Darford’s ; 
and Miss Locke undertook the care of them. It 
was not an easy or agreeable task; but she had 
great obligations to Mrs. Darford, and was rejoiced 
at finding an opportunity of showing her gratitude. 

Miss Locke was the young woman whose paint¬ 
ing of an iris had been admired by Charles and by 
Miss Maude Germaine when they visited the china 
works, thirteen or fourteen years before this time. 
Shfe was at that period very ill, and in great dis¬ 
tress : her father had been a bankrupt, and to earn 
bread for herself and her sisters she was obliged 
to work harder than her health and strength 
allowed. Probably she would have fallen a sacri¬ 
fice to her exertions if she had not been saved by 
the humanity of Mr. Darford; and, fortunately for 
him, he was married to a woman who sympathized 


112 


POPULAR TALES. 


in all his generous feelings, and who assisted him 
in every benevolent action. 

Mrs. Darford, after making sufficient inquiries 
as to the truth Of the story and the character of 
the girl, was so much pleased with all she heard 
of her merit, and so much touched by her mis¬ 
fortunes, that she took Miss Locke into her family 
to teach her daughters to draw. She well knew 
that a sense of dependence is one of the greatest 
evils; and she was careful to relieve the person 
whom she obliged, from this painful feeling, by 
giving her an opportunity of being daily useful to 
her benefactress. Miss Locke soon recovered her 
health; she perceived she might be serviceable in 
teaching the children of the family many things 
besides drawing; and with unremitting persever¬ 
ance she informed her own mind, that she might 
be able to instruct her pupils. Year after year she 
pursued this plan, and was rewarded by the esteem 
and affection of the happy family in which she 
lived. 

But though Miss Locke was a woman of great 
abilities, she had not the magical powers attributed 
to some characters in romance; she could not in¬ 
stantaneously produce a total reformation of man¬ 
ners. The habits of spoiled children are not to be 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 113 

changed by the most skilful preceptress without 
the aid of time. Miss Maude Germaine and her 
brother had tempers which tried Miss Locke’s pa¬ 
tience to the utmost; but gradually she acquired 
some influence over these wayward spirits. She 
endeavoured with her utmost skill to eradicate the 
jealousy which had been implanted in the minds 
of the brother and sister. They found that they 
were now treated with strict impartiality, and they 
began to live together more peaceably. 

Time was willingly allowed to Miss Locke by 
their parents, who were glad to be disencumbered 
of their children. Eighteen months passed away, 
and no news was heard of Mr. and Mrs. Germaine, 
except that they continued the same extravagant, 
dissipated course of life, and that they began to be 
much embarrassed in their circumstances. At 
last Mr. Darford received a letter which informed 
him that an execution was laid on Mr. Germaine’s 
fine house in town, and that he and his family 
were all in the greatest distress and affliction. 

William hastened immediately to London. He 
was denied admittance at Mr. Germaine’s: the 
porter, with an air of mystery, said that his master 
was ill, and did not choose to see anybody. Wil¬ 
liam, however, forced his way up stairs. 

10 * 


114 


POTULAR TALES. 


Charles at the sight of him stepped back, ex¬ 
claiming, “ May I believe my eyes ! William ! 
Is it you ?” 

“ Yes, it is William ; your old friend William,” 
said Mr. Darford, embracing him affectionately. 
Pride and shame struggled in the mind of Charles ; 
and turning aside to repress the tears which in the 
first instance of emotion had started into his eyes, 
he went to the farthest end of the room for an 
arm-chair for his cousin, placed it with awkward 
ceremony, and said, “ Won’t you be seated, cousin 
Darford? I am sure Mrs. Germaine and I are 
much indebted to you and Mrs. Darford for your 
goodness to our children. I was just thinking of 
writing to you about them; but we are in sad con¬ 
fusion here, just at this moment. I am quite 
ashamed—I did not expect—Why did you never 
honour us with a visit before? I am sure you 
could not possibly have hit upon a more unlucky 
moment for a visit—for yourself, I mean.” 

“ If it proves lucky to you, my dear Charles,” 
replied William mildly, “ I shall think it the most 
fortunate moment I could possibly have chosen.” 

Vanquished by the tone of this reply, our hero 
burst into tears: he squeezed his friend’s hand, 
but could not speak. Recovering himself after a 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 115 

few moments, he said, “ You are too good, cousin 
William, and always were ! I thought you called 
in by accident; I had no supposition that you came 
on purpose to assist me in this moment of dis¬ 
tress—embarrassment I ought to say! for in fact 
it is only a mere temporary embarrassment.” 

“ I am heartily glad to hear it. But speak to 
me freely, Charles; do not conceal the real state 
of your affairs from your best friend. What ten¬ 
dency could this have but to plunge you into irre¬ 
trievable ruin I” 

Charles paused for a minute. “ The truth of 
the matter is, my dear William,” continued he, 
“ that there are circumstances in this business 
which I should be sorry reached Mrs. Germaine’s 
ear, or any of her cursed proud relations; for if 
once they heard of it, I should have no peace for 
the rest of my life. Indeed, as to peace, I cannot 
boast of much as it is; but it might be worse, 
much worse, if the whole truth came out. To 
you, however, I can trust it, though in your line 
of life it would be counted n shocking thing: but 
still you are so indulgent—” 

William listened, without being able to guess 
where this preamble would end. 

“ In the first place,” continued Charles, “ you 


116 


POPULAR TALES. 


know—Mrs. Germaine is almost ten years older 
than I am.” 

“ Six years, I thought you formerly told me V 9 

“ I beg your pardon, ten—ten—within a few 
months. If I said six it was before our marriage, 
when I knew no better. She owns to seven; her 
own relations say eight; her nurse said nine ; and 
I say ten.” 

“ Well, ten let it be, since you will have it so.” 

“ I should be very glad to have it otherwise, I 
promise you, if I could: for it is not very pleasant 
to a man like me to be quizzed by half the young 
men of fashion in town for having married a 
woman old enough to be my mother.” 

“ Not quite old enough to be your mother,” 
said his cousin, in a conciliatory tone; “ these 
young men of fashion are not the best calculators. 
Mrs. Germaine could not well have been your 
mother, since, at the worst, by your own account, 
there is only ten years’ difference between you.” 

“ Oh, but that is not all; for, what is still worse, 
Mrs. Germaine, thanks to the raking hours she 
keeps, and gaming and fretting, looks full ten years 
older than she is : so that you see, in fact, there are 
twenty years between us.” 

“ I do not see it indeed,” replied William, smiling; 
“ but I am bound to believe what you assert. Let 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 117 

me ask you to what does this discussion concerning 
poor Mrs. Germaine’s age tend ?” 

“ To justify, or at least to excuse, poor Mr. Ger¬ 
maine for keeping a mistress, who is something 
younger, something prettier, and, above all, some¬ 
thing more good-humoured than his wife.” 

“ Perhaps the wife would be as good-humoured 
as the mistress, if she were as happy in possessing 
her husband’s affections.” 

“ Affections! Oh Lord! Affections are out of the 
question. Mrs. Germaine does not care a straw 
about my affections.” 

“ And yet you dread that she should have the 
least hint of your having a mistress ?” 

“ Of course. You don’t see my jet. You don’t 
consider what a devil of a handle that would give 
her against me. She has no more love for me than 
this table; but she is jealous beyond all credibility, 
and she knows right well how to turn her jealousy 
to account. She would go caballing among her 
tribes of relations, and get all the women and all 
the world on her side, with this hue and cry of a 
mistress; and then I should be branded as the worst 
husband upon earth. That indeed I should laugh 
at, because all the young men in town would keep 
me in countenance ; but Mrs. Germaine would rum- 


118 


POPULAR TALES. 


mage out the history of the sums of money I have 
given this girl, and then would set those against her 
play-debts, and I should have no more hold over 
her; for, you know, if I should begin to reproach 
her with the one, she would recriminate. She is 
a devil of a hand at that work! Neither you nor 
any man on earth, except myself, can form any 
idea of the temper of Mrs. Germaine! She is—to 
you, my dear friend, I may have the relief of saying 
so—she is, without exception, the most proud, pee¬ 
vish, selfish, unreasonable, extravagant, tyrannical, 
unfeeling woman in Christendom !” 

“ In Christendom! Oh, you exaggerate, Charles!” 

“ Exaggerate! Upon my soul, I do not: she is 
all I have said, and more.” 

“ More! Impossible. Come, I see how it is ; 
she has been unlucky at the card-table; you are 
angry, and therefore you speak, as angry people 
always do, worse than you think.”* 

“ No, not at all, I promise you. I am as per¬ 
fectly cool as you are. You do not know Mrs. 
Germaine as well as I do.” 

“ But I know that she is much to be pitied, if her 
husband has a worse opinion of her than anybody 
else expresses.” 


♦Swift. 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 119 

“ That is precisely because I am her husband— 
and know her better than other people do. Will 
not you give me leave to be the best judge in what 
relates to my own wife ? I never, indeed, expected 
to hear you, of all people upon earth, cousin 
William, undertake her defence. I think I re¬ 
member that she was no great favourite of yours 
before I married, and you dissuaded me as much 
as possible from the match : yet now you are quite 
become her advocate, and take her part to my face 
against me.” 

“ It is not taking her part against you, my dear 
Charles,” replied his cousin, “ to endeavour to 
make you better satisfied with your wife. I am 
not so obstinate in self-opinion as to wish, at the 
expense of your domestic happiness, to prove that 
I was right in dissuading you from the match; on 
the contrary, I would do all in my power to make 
the best of it; and so should you.” 

“ Ah, cousin William, it is easy for you to talk 
of making the best of a bad match; you who are 
married to one of the best-tempered women alive ! 
I wish you were to live with Mrs. Germaine for 
one month.” 

William smiled; as much as to say, “ I cannot 
join in that wish.” 


120 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ Besides,” continued Charles, “ if I were to 
open my whole heart to you, you would pity me 
on another account. My wife is not my only 
plague; my mistress is almost as great a torment 
as my wife.” 

‘ What! this mistress of whom you are so 
fond ?” 

“ Ay! there is the curse ! I cannot help being 
fond of her: and that she knows, and plays me 
off as she pleases. But I believe the little jilt 
loves me all the time: because she has offers 
enough, and from men of the first fashion, if she 
would leave me. She is certainly a good girl; 
but then so passionate!” 

“ I thought you told me she was good-humoured,” 
interrupted his cousin. 

“ Well, so she is at times, the best-humoured 
creature in nature; and then she is charming: but 
when she falls into a passion, she is a little fury ! 
absolutely a little devil! There is nothing she 
would not do. Now, do you know, all this terrible 
business, this execution against me, is her doing?” 

“ A singular proof of love !” said Mr. William 
Darford. 

“ Oh, the fool loves me, notwithstanding; I 
must do her that justice: but she is quite a child. 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 121 

put her into a passion by going down to Leices¬ 
tershire when she wanted me to stay with her in 
town. She told me she would be revenged; but I 
could not believe she would go such lengths. She 
gave a note of mine, for two hundred guineas, to 
her uncle; and he got a writ. Now she is in 
despair about it. I saw her two hours ago all 
in tears, and tearing her hair, because her uncle 
won’t consent to withdraw the execution. I am 
sure she is really and truly sorry; and would give 
her eyes to get me out of this scrape.” 

“ Whether she would give her eyes or not, I 
will not pretend to determine; but it is plain she 
would not pay two hundred guineas * to get you 
out of this scrape.’ Now, where do you intend to 
get the money V 9 

“ Ah, there’s the rub! I have not a farthing till 
our next rents come in; and you see these heaps 
of bills. Then the agent, who manages every 
thing, Heaven knows how! at Germaine-park, 
says tenants are breaking; that we are I do not 
know how much in his debt, and that we must 
sell: but that, if we sell in a hurry, and if our 
distress be talked of, we shall get nothing for the 
land, and so shall be ruined, outright. Now this 
all originates in Mrs. Germaine’s pride and posi- 
11 


122 


POPULAR TALES. 


tiveness : she never could be prevailed upon to go 
down to Germaine-park, these ten years past, be¬ 
cause some of the Northamptonshire people affront¬ 
ed her: so our affairs have gone on just as the 
agent pleases; and he is a rascal, I am convinced, 
for he is always writing to say we are in his debt. 
But indeed, my dear William, you are too good to 
take any interest in this history of my affairs: I 
am conscious that I have not treated you well.” 

“ Do not talk of that now; do not think of it, 
Charles,” interrupted Mr. Darford. “ I am come 
to town on purpose to be of all the service to you 
I can. I will discharge this writ upon one, and 
only upon one, condition.” 

“ Upon any condition you please,” cried Charles. 
“ I will give you my bond. I will give you se¬ 
curity upon the Germaine estate, if you require 
it.” 

“ I require no security; I require no bond, 
Charles ; I require only a condition which I believe 
to be absolutely necessary for your happiness. 
Promise me you will break off all connexion with 
*his treacherous mistress of yours.” 

“ Treacherous ! No, no! I assure you, you mis¬ 
take the girl.” 

“ Mistake her or not, Charles, without arguing 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 123 

the matter further, on this one point I must be 
peremptory; and, positively, the only condition on 
which I will pay this money is your promise never 
to see her again.” 

Charles hesitated. “ Upon my soul,” cried he, 
“ I believe the girl will break her heart. But then 
she is so cursedly extravagant, she ruins me! I 
would have broken with her long ago, if I could 
have summoned up courage enough. After all, I 
believe it was more habit, idleness, and fashion, 
than any thing else, that made me go to see her so 
often. When I did not know what to do with my¬ 
self, or when I was put out of humour at home, I 
w r ent to this girl. Well, let us say no more about 
it: she is not worth thinking of; I give her up. 
You may depend upon it, my dear William, f will 
have nothing more to do with her. I will, since 
you make that your ultimatum, never see her 
again.” 

“ Will you write to her then immediately, to 
let her know your determination ?” 

“ Certainly; immediately.” 

Charles wrote, to bid adieu to this mistress; to 
whom, by his own account, habit, idleness, fashion, 
and the want of a happy home had attached him ; 
and William gave him a draft for the amount of 
his debt, by which the execution was taken off. 


124 


POPULAR TALES. 


Mr. Darford seized the moment when his cousin’s 
mind was warmed with gratitude to say a few 
words, as little in the form of advice as possible, 
in praise of economy. 

“ You know, my dear Charles,” said he, “ that 
I am, and always w T as, a very plain man, in my 
way of living, and I dare say my ideas will ap¬ 
pear quite absurd to you, who are used to live with 
men of taste and fashion ; but really these rooms, 
this furniture, and this house appear to me fitter 
for a nobleman than for a man of your fortune.” 

“ It is so. Mrs. Germaine would insist upon 
my taking it. But I will part with it before next 
winter. I will advertise it immediately. I will 
begin a course of economy.” 

Mr. Germaine’s projects of economy were at 
this moment interrupted by the sudden entrance 
of his wife. Her eyes flashing with anger, she 
walked with the proud air of an enraged tragedy 
queen across the room, seated herself upon a sofa, 
and in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed 
rage, said, “ I am to thank you, Mr. Germaine, 
for the many obliging things you have said of me 
this last hour! I have heard them all! You 
are under a mistake, sir, if you imagine I have 
been hitherto your dupe. You have never imposed 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 


125 


upon me for a moment. I have suspected, this 
twelvemonth, that you kept a mistress; and now 
I am happy to have the truth confirmed from your 
own lips. But I deserve all that has happened ! 
I am justly treated! Weak woman, to marry as 
I did ! No gentleman, sir, would have behaved 
or would have spoken as you have done! Could 
not you have been content with ruining yourself 
and your family, Mr. Germaine, by your profligate 
low tastes, without insulting me by base reflections 
upon my temper, and downright falsehoods about 
my age? No gentleman, sir, would have treated 
me as you have done. I am the most miserable 
of women!” 

Passion choked her utterance, and she fell back 
in a violent fit of hysterics. Mr. William Darford 
was much shocked at this matrimonial scene. The 
lady had caught hold of his arm, in one of her con¬ 
vulsive motions; and she held it so fast that he 
could not withdraw. Charles stood in silent dis¬ 
may. His conscience smote him; and though he 
could not love his wife, he blamed himself for hav¬ 
ing rendered her “ the most miserable of women.” 
“ Leave her to me, Charles,” said Mr. Darford, 
“ and I will endeavour to set matters to rights.” 

Charles shook his head, and left the room. Mrs. 

11 * 


126 


POPULAR TALES. 


Germaine by degrees recovered herself; for an 
hysteric fit cannot last for ever. She cast her eyes 
round the room, and exclaimed, “ He has done well 
to leave me! Oh, that it were for ever! Oh, that 
we had never met! But may I ask why Mr. Wil¬ 
liam Darford is here 1 My own servant—my own 
maid should have been summoned to attend me. 
We have servants still, sir; and, humbled as I arn, 
I see no necessity for submitting to have cool spec¬ 
tators of our family distresses and family quarrels.” 

“ Believe me, madam,” said Mr. Darford, “ I am 
not a cool spectator of either. 1 do not wish to re¬ 
call disagreeable things, but to obtain the right of 
speaking to you of your affairs as a friend. Per¬ 
mit me to remind you that, when I could not guess 
you heard me, I defended your interests.” 

“ Really, sir, you spoke so low that I did not 
distinctly hear what you said; and my feelings 
were so much hurt by all I heard from Mr. Ger¬ 
maine, who spoke loud enough, that I attended to 
nothing else. Upon recollection, I do however re¬ 
member you made some offer to get Mr. Germaine 
out of his present embarrassments, upon condition 
that he would break off all connexion with this girl, 
whom nobody knows; or rather whom everybody 
knows too well.” 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 127 

“ And was not this offer of mine some proof, 
Mrs. Germaine, that I wish your happiness ?” 

“ Why, really, Mr. Darford, having lived in the 
world as I have done from my childhood, I am not 
apt to expect much friendship from any one, es¬ 
pecially from people in the habits of calculation; 
and I have been so much deceived where I have 
unguardedly trusted to the friendship and love of a 
man brought up in that sort of way, that you must 
forgive me if I could not bring my mind to think 
you had any concern for my happiness in the offer 
you made. I did indeed suppose it would be a mor¬ 
tifying circumstance to you, to see your cousin 
quite ruined by this infamous creature. I say, I 
did imagine you would be shocked at seeing your 
cousin sent to jail. That, you know, is a thing 
discreditable to a whole family, let it be of what 
sort it may. From your kindness to our children, 
I see you consider us as relations. Every human 
being, I do suppose, has some family pride in their 
own way.” 

“ I own I have a great deal of family pride, in 
my own way, madam,” replied Mr. Darford, with 
a calm smile; “ I am proud, for instance, of having, 
and of being able to maintain in perfect independ¬ 
ence, a number of good and affectionate children, 


129 


POPULAR TALES. 


and a wife whose good sense and sweetness of tem¬ 
per constitute the happiness of my existence!” 

Mrs. Germaine coloured, threw back her head, 
and strove to conceal the anguish of her conscience. 
William was sorry he had inflicted pain, but he saw 
that the only way to make himself understood, in 
this conversation, was to assert that real superiority 
of character to which, in certain situations, the 
factitious pretensions of rank or fashion never fail 
to yield. 

“You are at liberty, Mrs. Germaine,” continued 
William, “ to interpret my offers and my actions 
as you think proper; but you will, when you are 
cool, observe that neither I nor any of my family 
have any thing to gain from you or yours; not 
even a curtsy or a bow in public places; for we 
do not frequent them. We live retired, and have 
no connexion with fine people; we preserve our 
own independence by confining ourselves to our 
own station in life; and by never desiring to quit 
it, nor to ape“ those who are called our betters. 
From what I have just heard you say, I think it 
possible you may have formed the idea that we in¬ 
vited your children to our house with the selfish 
supposition that the connexion , I believe that is the 
fashionable phrase, might be advantageous to our 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 129 

own ? But this is quite a mistake. Our children 
will live as we do: they have no idea of forming 
high connexions, because they have been taught 
not to think them necessary to happiness. I assure 
you it is not my habit to talk so much of myself, 
and of mine; but I thought it best to explain the 
truth to you at once, as this was the only way to 
gain your confidence, and as we have neither of us 
time to spare.” 

“ Very true,” said Mrs. Germaine. 

“ And now, madam, I have a proposal to make 
to you, which I hope you will take as it is meant. 
I understand, from Mr. Germaine, you have some 
play-debts.” 

“ Mr. Germaine does not know their amount,” 
said Mrs. Germaine; lowering her voice, as if she 
apprehended she might be overheard. 

“ If you will trust me with that secret, I will not 
make a bad use of it.” 

Mrs. Germaine in a whisper named the sum. 
It was certainly considerable, for the naming of it 
made Mr. Darford step back with surprise. After 
a few minutes’ thought, he recovered himself, and 
said, “ This is a larger debt than I was aware of, 
but we will see what can be done. From the time 
that Charles and I dissolved our partnership, I have 


130 


POPULAR TALES. 


never remitted my attention to business ; and that 
very circumstance, for which you must despise me, 
puts it now in my power to assist you without in¬ 
juring my own family. I am a man who speak 
my mind freely, perhaps bluntly. You must so¬ 
lemnly promise me you will never again play at 
any game of hazard. Upon this condition, I will 
pay your present debts immediately.” 

With all the eagerness of a person who wishes 
to seize an offer which appears too generous to be 
repeated, Mrs. Germaine promised all that was re¬ 
quired. Her debts were paid. 

And now her benefactor had hopes that she and 
her husband would live more prudently; and that 
they might still enjoy some portion of domestic 
happiness. Vain hopes ! Charles really wished to 
retrench his expenses; but Mrs. Germaine’s pride 
was an insuperable obstacle to all his plans of eco¬ 
nomy. She had always been accustomed to such 
and such things. There was no possibility of living 
without them. Her relations would be perfectly 
astonished if she did not appear in the style in 
which she had always lived before her marriage. 
Provoked by the insolent absurdity of such argu¬ 
ments, Mr. Germaine insisted with the authoritative 
voice of a husband who was conscious that he had 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 131 

both reason and power on his side. Hence arose 
daily altercations, more bitter even than those which 
jealousy had formerly occasioned. Some wives 
acknowledge they can more easily forgive a hus¬ 
band’s infidelity than his interference in the regu¬ 
lation of their household expenses. Of this class 
of amiable females was Mrs. Germaine. Though 
her husband strictly adhered to his promise never 
to have any further connexion with his mistress, 
yet he was not rewarded by any increase of affec¬ 
tion or kindness from his wife; on the contrary, she 
seemed to be rather vexed that she was deprived of 
this lcgitimate'subject of complaint. She could not, 
with so much tragic effect, bewail that her husband 
would ruin himself and her by his follies. 

To loud altercations silent hatred succeeded. 
Mrs. Germaine grew sullen, low-spirited, nervous, 
and hysterical. Among fashionable and medical 
dowagers, she became an interesting personage: but 
this species of consequence was by no means suffi¬ 
cient to support her self-complacency, and, as she 
declared, she felt herself incapable of supporting 
the intolerable burden of ennui. 

In various situations, the conduct of many in¬ 
dividuals may be predicted with certainty by those 
who are acquainted with their previous habits. 


132 POPULAR TALES. 

Habit is, to weak minds, a species of moral pre¬ 
destination, from which they have no power to es¬ 
cape. Their common language expresses their 
sense of their own inability to struggle against that 
destiny which their previous folly has prepared. 
They usually say, “ For my part, I cannot help 
doing so and so. I know it is very wrong. I know 
it is my ruin; but I own I cannot resist. It is in 
vain to argue with me : it is my way ; it is my fate.” 

Mrs. Germaine found herself led, “ by an irre¬ 
sistible impulse,” to the card-table, notwithstanding 
her solemn promise never more to play at any game 
of hazard. It was in vain to argue with her. “ It 
was her way; it was her fate: she knew it was 
very wrong; she knew it was her ruin; but she 
could not resist!” 

In the course of a few months she was again in¬ 
volved in debt; and she had the meanness and the 
assurance again to apply to the generosity of Mr. 
William Darford. Her letter was written in the 
most abject strain, and was full of all the flattering 
expressions which she imagined must, from a wo¬ 
man of her birth and consequence in the world, 
have a magical effect upon one in Mr. William 
Darford’s station. She was surprised when she 
received a decided refusal He declined all further 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 133 

Interference, as he perceived it was impossible that 
he could be of any real utility. He forbore to 
reproach the lady with her breach of promise: 
“ She will,” said he to himself, “ be sufficiently 
punished by the consequences of her own conduct: 
I would not increase her distress.” 

A separation from her husband was the imme¬ 
diate consequence. Perhaps it may be thought that, 
to Mrs. Germaine, this would be no punishment: 
but the loss of all the pride, pomp, and circum¬ 
stance of married life was deeply felt. She was 
thrown absolutely upon the charity of relations; 
who had very little charity in any sense of the 
word. She was disregarded by all her fine ac. 
quaintance; she had no friend upon earth to pity 
her; even her favourite maid gave warning, be¬ 
cause she was tired of her mistress’s temper, and 
of receiving no wages. 

The detail of poor Mrs. Germaine’s mortifica¬ 
tions and sufferings cannot be interesting. She 
was a prey to low spirits, or, in other words, to 
mortified vanity, for some time; and at last died 
of a nervous fever. 

Her husband wrote the following letter to Mr. 
William Darford, soon after her death: 

12 


t 


134 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ My Dear William, 

“ You have heard of poor Mrs. Germaine’s death, 
and of the manner of it; no more need be said 
upon that subject. Whatever were her faults, she 
has suffered for them; and so have I for mine. 
Believe me, I am effectually cured of all desire to 
be a fine gentleman. I shall quit the name of Ger¬ 
maine immediately, and resume that of Darford. 
You know the state of my affairs. There is yet 
hope I may set things to rights by my own in¬ 
dustry ; and I am determined to go into business, 
and to apply to it in good earnest, for my own sake, 
and for the sake of my children, whom I have 
hitherto shamefully neglected. But I had it not 
always in my power, after my marriage, to do as 
I wished. No more of that. The blame be upon 
me for the past; for the future I shall, I hope, be 
a different man. I dare not ask you to trust so far 
to these good resolutions as to take me into part¬ 
nership with you in your manufactory; but per¬ 
haps your good-nature can direct me to some em¬ 
ployment suited to my views and capacity. I ask 
only a fair trial; I think I shall not do as I used to 
do, and leave all the letters to be written by my 
partner* 

‘ Give my love to my dear little boy and girl. 


THE MANUFACTURERS. 135 

How can I thank you and Mrs. Darford enough 
for all you have done for them! There is another 
person whom I should wish to thank, but scarcely 
dare to name; feeling, as I do, so unworthy of her 
goodness. Adieu, yours sincerely, 

“ Charles Darford, again, 
thank God.” 

It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers 
that Mr. William Darford received his penitent 
friend with open arms, took him into partnership, 
and assisted him in the most kind and judicious 
manner to re-establish his fortune and his credit. 
He became remarkable for his steady attention to 
business ; to the great astonishment of those who 
had seen him only in the character of a dissipated 
fine gentleman. Few have sufficient strength of 
mind thus to stop short in the career of folly, and 
few have the resolution to bear the ridicule thrown 
upon them even by those whom they despise. 
Our hero was ridiculed most unmercifully by all his 
former companions,—by all the Bond-street loun¬ 
gers. But of what consequence was this to him ? 
He did not live among them; he did not hear their 
witticisms, and well knew that, in less than a twelve- 
month, they would forget that such a person as 


136 


POPULAR TALES. 


Charles Germaine had ever existed. His know¬ 
ledge of what is called high life had sufficiently 
convinced him that happiness is not in the gift or 
in the possession of those who are often, to igno¬ 
rant mortals, objects of supreme admiration and 
envy. 

Charles Darford looked for happiness, and found 
it in domestic life. 

Belief, founded upon our own experience, is more 
firm than that which we grant to the hearsay evi¬ 
dence of moralists; but happy those who, according 
to the ancient proverb, can profit by the experience 
of their predecessors. 


Feb. 1603. 


THE CONTRAST. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Wiiat a blessing it is to be the father of such 
a family of children!” said Farmer Frankland, as 
he looked round at the honest affectionate faces of 
his sons and daughters, who were dining with him 
on his birthday. “ What a blessing it is to have 
a large family of children!” 

“ A blessing you may call it, if you will, neigh¬ 
bour,” said Farmer Bettes worth; “ but if I was to 
speak my mind, I should be apt to call it a curse.” 

“ Why, as to that, we may both be right and 
both be wrong,” replied Frankland ,* “ for children 
are either a blessing or a curse, according as they 
turn out; and they turn out according as they are 
brought up. ‘ Bring up a child in the way it 
should gothat has ever been my maxim: show 
me a better, show me a happier, family than my 
own, and show me a happier father than myself,” 


138 


POPULAR TALES. 


continued the good old man, with pleasure spar¬ 
kling in his eyes. Observing, however, that his 
neighbour Bettsworth looked blank and sighed 
deeply, he checked himself, and said, in a mbre 
humble tone, “ To be sure, it is not so mannerly 
for a man to be praising his own ; except it just 
come from the heart unawares, among friends, who 
will excuse it; especially upon such a day as this. 
This day I am seventy years of age, and never 
was heartier or happier! So, Fanny, love, fill 
neighbour Bettesworth a glass of your sister’s cider. 
’T is my Patty’s making, sir; and better never 
was drunk. Nay, nay, sit ye still, neighbour; as 
you happened to call in just as we were all dining, 
and making merry together, why you cannot do 
better than to stay and make one of us, seeing 
that you are heartily welcome.” 

Mr. Bettesworth excused himself, by saying that 
he was in haste home. 

No happy home had he, no affectionate children 
to welcome his return. Yet he had as numerous 
a family as Mr. Frankland’s; three sons and two 
daughters,—Idle Isaac, Wild Will, Bullying Bob, 
Saucy Sally, and Jilting Jessy. Such were the 
names by which they were called by all who 
knew them in the town of Monmouth, where they 


THE CONTRAST. 139 

lived. Alliteration had “lent its artful aid” in 
giving these nicknames; but they were not mis¬ 
applied. 

Mr. Bettesworth was an indolent man, fond of his 
pipe, and fonder of building castles in the air by 
his fireside. Mrs. Bettesworth was a vain, foolish 
vixen; fond of dress, and fonder of her own will. 
Neither of them took the least care to breed up 
their children well. While they were young, the 
mother humoured them: when they grew up, she 
contradicted them in every thing, and then won¬ 
dered how they could be so ungrateful as not to 
love her. 

The father was also surprised to find that his 
boys and girls were not as well-mannered, nor as 
well-tempered, nor as clever, nor as steady, nor as 
dutiful and affectionate, as his neighbour Frank- 
land’s; and he said to himself, “ Some folks have 
the luck of having good children. To be sure, 
some children are born better than others.” 

He should rather have said, “ To be sure, some 
children are bred better than others.” 

Mr. Frankland’s wife was a prudent sensible 
\voman, and had united with him in constant en¬ 
deavours to educate their family. While they 
were yet infants, prattling at their mother’s knee, 


140 


POPULAR TALES. 


she taught them to love and help one another, to 
conquer their little froward humours, and to be 
obedient and tractable. This saved both them and 
herself a great deal of trouble afterward; and their 
father often said, both to the boys and girls, “ You 
may thank your mother, and so may I, for the 
good tempers you have.” 

The girls had the misfortune to lose this ex¬ 
cellent mother, when one was about seventeen, and 
the other eighteen; but she was always alive in 
their memory. Patty, the eldest sister, was homely 
in her person; but she was so neat in her dress, 
and she had such a cheerful agreeable temper, that 
people forgot she was not handsome ; particularly 
as it was observed that she was very fond of her 
sister Fanny, who was remarkably pretty. 

Fanny was neither prudish nor censorious; 
neither a romp nor a flirt: she was so unaffected 
and unassuming that most of her neighbours loved 
her; and this is saying a great deal in favour of 
one who had so much the power to excite envy. 

Mr. Frankland’s eldest son, George, was bred to 
be a farmer; and he understood country business 
uncommonly well for a young man of his age. 
He constantly assisted his father in the manage¬ 
ment of the farm; and by this means acquired 


THE CONTRAST. 


141 


much experience with little waste of time or money. 
His father had always treated him so much as his 
friend, and had talked to him so openly of his 
affairs, that he ever looked upon his father’s busi¬ 
ness as his own; and he had no idea of having 
any separate interest. 

James, the second son, was bred to trade. He 
had been taught whatever was necessary and use¬ 
ful for a man in business ; he had habits of punc¬ 
tuality, civil manners, and a thorough love of fair 
dealing. 

Frank, the youngest son, was of a more lively 
disposition than his brothers: and his father used 
often to tell him, when he was a boy, that, if he 
did not take care, his hasty temper would get him 
into scrapes; and that the brightest parts, as they 
are called, will be of little use to a man, unless he 
has also steadiness to go through with whatever 
he begins. These hints, from a father whom he 
heartily loved, made so strong an impression upon 
Frank, that he took great pains to correct the 
natural violence of his temper, and to learn pa¬ 
tience and industry. The three brothers were 
attached to one another; and their friendship was 
a source of improvement, as well as of pleasure. 

The evening of Mr. Frankland’s birthday the 


142 


POPULAR TALES. 


whole family retired to an arbour in their garden, 
and began to talk over their affairs with open 
hearts. 

“ Well, Frank, my boy,” said the happy father, 
who was the confidant of his children, “ I am sure 
if your heart is set upon this match with Jessy 
Bettesworth, I will do my best to like the girl; and 
her not being rich shall be no objection to me: we 
can made that up among us, some way or other. 
But, Frank, it is fair to tell you my opinion of the 
girl, plainly and fully, beforehand, as I have done. 
She that has jilted others, I think would be apt to 
jilt you, if she met with a better offer.” 

“ Why, then, father, I’ll not be in a hurry: I’ll 
take time to consider, before I speak to her any 
more; and I thank you for being so kind, which I 
hope I shall not forget.” 

The morning after this conversation passed, 
Jilting Jessy, accompanied by her sister, Saucy 
Sally, came to pay Patty and Fanny Frankland a 
visit. They were full of some piece of news, 
which they were eager to tell. 

“ Well, to be sure, I dreamed I had a diamond 
ring put on my finger by a great lord, not a week 
ago,” cried Jessy; “ and who knows but it may 


THE CONTRAST. 


143 


come true ? You have not heard the news, Fanny 
Frankland ? Hey, Patty ?” 

“ Not they: they never hear any news!” said 
Sally. 

“ Well, then, I’ll tell you,” cried Jessy. “ Rich 
Captain Bettesworth, our relation, who made the 
great fortin abroad, over seas, has just broken his 
neck out a hunting; and the fortin all comes to 
us.” 

“ We shall now see whether Mrs. Craddock shall 
push by me again, as she did yesterday in the street! 
We’ll see whether I sha’n’t make as good a fine 
lady as herself, I warrant it, that’s all. It’s my 
turn to push by folk now,” said Saucy Sally. 

Fanny and Patty Frankland, with sincere good¬ 
nature, congratulated their neighbours on this in¬ 
crease of fortune; but they did not think that push¬ 
ing by Mrs. Craddock could be one of the most 
useful or agreeable consequences of an increase in 
fortune. 

“ Lord, Patty! how you sit moping yourself 
there at your work,” continued Sally; “ but some 
people must work, to be sure, that can’t afford to 
be idle. How you must envy us, Patty!” 

Patty assured her she did not in the least envy 
those who were idle. 


144 


POPULAR TALES. 


“Fine talking! Fine airs, truly, Miss Patty! 
This is by way of calling me over the coals for 
being idle, I suppose!” said Sally ; “ but I ’ve nc 
notion of being taken to task this way. You think 
you’ve had a fine edication , I suppose, and so are 
to set a pattern for all Monmouthshire, indeed: but 
you ’ll find some people will be as much thought 
of now as other people; and may hold their heads 
as high. Edication ? .s a fine thing, no doubt; but 
fortin’s a better, as the world goes, I’ve a notion: 
so you may go moping on here as long as you 
please, being a good child all the days of your life! 

* Come when you ’re called; 

And do as you ’re bid; 

Shut the door after you; 

And you ’ll never be chid.’ 

I’m sure I would not let my nose be kept to the 
grindstone, as yours is, for any one living. 1 ’ve 
too much spirit, for my part, to be made a fool of, 
as some people are; and all for the sake of being 
called a vastly good daughter, or a vastly good 
sister, forsooth!” 

Nothing but the absolute want of breath could 
have suspended the remainder of this speech; for 
she was so provoked to see Patty did not envy her, 
that she was determined to say every thing she could 


THE CONTRAST. 


145 


invent, to try her. Patty’s temper, however, was 
proof against the trial; and Saucy Sally, despairing 
of success against one sister, turned to the other. 

“ Miss Fanny, I presume,” said she, “won’t give 
herself such high and mighty airs as she used to 
do, to one of her sweethearts, who shall be name¬ 
less.” 

Fanny blushed; for she knew this speech alluded 
to Wild Will, who was an admirer of hers, but 
whom she had never encouraged. 

“ I hope,” said she, “ I never gave myself airs 
to anybody: but if you mean to speak of your 
brother William, I assure you that my opinion of 
him will not be changed by his becoming richer; 
nor will my father’s.” 

Plere the conversation was interrupted by the 
entrance of Frank, who had just heard from one 
of the Bettesworths of their good fortune. Pie was 
impatient to see how Jessy would behave in pros¬ 
perity. “ Now,” said he to himself, “ I shall judge 
whether my father’s opinion of her or mine is 
right.” 

Jilting Jessy had certainly given Frank reason 
to believe she was very fond of him; but the sud¬ 
den change in her fortune quite altered her views 
and opinions. As soon as Frank came in, she pre- 

13 


146 


POPULAR TALES. 


tended to be in great haste to be gone; and by va¬ 
rious petty manoeuvres, avoided giving him an op¬ 
portunity of speaking to her; though she plainly 
saw he was anxious to say something to her in 
private. At length, when she was looking out of 
the window, to see whether a shower was over, he 
went behind her and whispered, “ Why are you in 
such haste? Cannot you stay a few minutes with 
us ? You are not always in such a hurry to run 
away!” 

“ Lord, nonsense! Mr. Frank. Why will you 
always plague me with nonsense, Mr. Frank ?” 

She opened the lattice window as she spoke, put 
out her beautiful neck as far as possible, and looked 
up eagerly to the clouds. 

“ How sweet this jasmine smells!” said Frank, 
pulling a bit of it which hung over the casement. 

This is the jasmine you used to like so much. 
See, I’ve nailed it up, and it’s finer than ever it 
was. Won’t you have a sprig of it?” offering 1 q 
put some in her hat, as he had done before; but 
she now drew back disdainfully, saying, 

“ Lord ! Mr. Frank, it’s all wet; and will spoil 
my new lilac ribands. How awkward and disa¬ 
greeable you are always!” 


THE CONTRAST. 


147 


%{ Always! you did not always think so; at least, 
you did not say so.” 

“ Well, I think so, and say so now ,* and that’s 
enough.” 

“ And too much, if you are in earnest; but that 
I can hardly believe.” 

44 That’s your business, and not mine. If you 
don’t choose to believe what I say, how can I help 
it ? But this you ’ll remember, if you please, sir.” 

“ Sir!!! Oh, Jessy! is it come to this ?” 

“ To what, sir? For I vow and declare I don’t 
understand you!” 

44 I have never understood you till now, I am 
afraid.” 

44 Perhaps not: it’s well we understand one an¬ 
other at last. Better late than never.” 

The scornful lady walked off to a looking-glass, 
to wipe away the insult which her new lilac ribands 
had received from Frank’s sprig of jasmine. 

44 One word more, and I have done,” said Frank, 
hastily following her. 44 Have I done anything to 
displease you ? Or does this change in you pro¬ 
ceed from the change in your fortune, Jessy ?” 

44 1’m not obliged, sir, to account for my pro¬ 
ceedings to anybody; and don’t know what right 
you have to question me, as if you were my lord 


148 


POPULAR TALES. 


and judge: which you are not, nor never will be, 
thank God!” 

Frank’s passion struggled with his reason for a 
few instants. He stood motionless; then, in an 
altered voice, repeated, “ Thank God!” and turned 
from her with proud composure. From this time 
forward he paid no more court to Jessy. 

“ Ah, father!” said he, “ you knew her better 
than I did. I am glad I did not marry her last 
year, when she would have accepted of me, and 
when she seemed to love me. I thought you were 
rather hard upon her then. But you were not in 
love with her as I was, and now I find you were 
right.” 

“ My dear Frank,” said the good old man, “ I 
hope you will not think me hard another time, 
when I do not think just the same as you do. I 
would, as I told you, have done everything in my 
power to settle you well in the world, if you had 
married this girl. I should never have been angry 
with you; but I should have been bitterly grieved 
if you had, for the whim of the minute, made your¬ 
self unhappy for life. And was it not best to put 
you upon your guard ? What better use can an 
old man make of his experience than to give it to 
his children ? ’ 


THE CONTRAST. 


149 


Frank was touched by the kind manner in which 
his father spoke to him ; and Fanny, who was pre¬ 
sent, immediately put a letter into her father’s hand, 
saying, “ I have just received this from Will Bettes- 
worth: what answer do you think 1 had best give 
him?” 

Now Fanny, though she did not quite approve 
of Wild Will’s character, felt a little partiality for 
him, for he seemed to be of a generous temper, and 
his manners were engaging. She hoped his wild¬ 
ness was only the effect of good spirits, and that 
he would soon settle to some business. However, 
she had kept these hopes and this partiality a se¬ 
cret from all but her father, and she had never given 
Will Bettesworth any encouragement. Her father 
had not a good opinion of this young man; and 
she had followed his advice in keeping him at a 
distance. His letter was written in so vile a hand 
that it was not easy to decipher the meaning. 

“ My sweet pretty Fanny, 

“ Notwithstanding your cruilty, I ham more in 
love with you than hever; and now I ham come 
in for a share in a great fortin; and shall ask no 
questions from father nor mother, if you will marry 
me, having no reason to love or care for either. 

13 * 


150 


POPULAR TiLES. 


Mother’s as cross as hever, and will never, I am 
shure, agre to my doing any thing I like myself; 
which makes me more set upon having my own 
whay, and I ham more and more in love with you 
than hever, and would go through fire and water to 
get you. Your true love (in haste) 

“Will Bettes worth.” 

At first reading the letter, Fanny was pleased to 
find that her lover did not, like Jilting Jessy, change 
his mind the moment that his situation was altered : 
but upon looking over it again, she could not help 
considering that such an undutiful son was not likely 
to make a very good husband; and she thought 
even that Wild Will seemed to be more and more 
in love with her than ever, from the spirit of oppo¬ 
sition ; for he had not been much attached to her, 
till his mother, as he said, set herself against the 
match. At the end of this letter were the words 
tvrn over; but they were so scrawled and blotted, 
that Fanny thought they were only one of the 
strange flourishes which he usually made at the end 
of his name; and consequently she had never 
turned, over, or read the postscript, when she put 
the epistle into her father’s hands. He decipheied 
the flourish, and read the following addition: 


THE CONTRAST . 


161 


“ I know your feather does not like me; but 
never mind his not being agreeuble. As shure as 
my name’s Will, I’d carry you hoff, night or day; 
and Bob would fight your brothers along with me, 
if they said a word: for Bob loves fun. I will be 
at your windor this night, if you are agreuble, like 
a gurl of spirit.” 

Fanny was shocked so much that she turned 
quite pale, and would have sunk to the ground, if 
she had not been supported by her father. As 
soon as she recovered herself sufficiently to be 
able to think, she declared that all the liking she 
had ever felt for William Bettes worth was com¬ 
pletely conquered ; and she thanked her father for 
having early warned her of his character. “ Ah ! 
father,” said she, “ what a happiness it has been 
to me that you never made me afraid of you! 
Else, I never should have dared to tell you my 
mind; and in what a sad snare might I have been 
at this instant! If it had not been for you, I 
should perhaps have encouraged this man; I 
might not then, maybe, have been able to draw 
back; and what would have become of me!” 

It is scarcely necessary to say that Fanny wrote 
a decided refusal to Wild Will. All connexion be- 


152 POPULAR TALES. 

tween the Bettes worths and Franklands was now 
broken off. 

Will was enraged at being rejected by Fanny; 
and Jessy was equally incensed at finding she 
was no longer admired by Frank. They, how¬ 
ever, affected to despise the Franklands, and to 
treat them as people beneath their notice. The 
fortune left by Captain Bettesworth to his relations 
was said to be about twenty thousand pounds: with 
this sum they thought, to use their own expression, 
they were entitled to live in as great style, and cut 
as grand a dash, as any of the first families in 
Monmouthshire. For the present we shall leave 
them to the enjoyment of their new grandeur, and 
continue the humble history of Farmer Frankland 
and his family. 

By many years of persevering industry, Mr. 
Frankland had so improved the farm upon which 
he lived, that he was now affluent, for a man in 
his station of life. His house, garden, farm-yard, 
every thing about him, were so neat and comfort¬ 
able, that travellers, as they passed by, never 
failed to ask, “ Who lives there!” Travellers, 
however, only saw the outside; and that was not, 
in this instance, the best part. They would have 
6een happiness, if they had looked within these 


THE CONTRAST. 


153 


farm-house walls: happiness which may be en¬ 
joyed as well in the cottage as in the palace,— 
that which arises from family union. 

Mr. Frankland was now anxious to settle his sons 
in the world. George had business enough at 
home, in taking care of the farm : and James pro¬ 
posed to set up a haberdasher’s shop in Monmouth; 
accordingly, the goods were ordered, and the shop 
was taken. 

There was a part in the roof of the house which 
let in the wet, and James would not go into it till 
this was completely repaired: so his packages of 
goods were sent from London to his father’s house, 
which was only a mile distant from Monmouth. 
His sisters unpacked them by his desire, to set 
shop-marks upon each article. Late at night, after 
all the rest of the family were asleep, Patty was 
sitting up to finish setting the marks on a box full 
of ribands: the only thing that remained to be 
done. Her candle was just burnt out,' and, as 
she was going for another, she went by a passage 
window that faced the farm-yard, and suddenly 
saw a great light without. She looked out, and 
beheld the large hay-rick all in flames. She ran 
immediately to awaken her brothers and her father. 
They used every possible exertion to extinguish 


154 


POPULAR TALES. 


the fire, and to prevent it from communicating to 
the dwelling-house; but the wind was high; it 
blew directly towards the house. George poured 
buckets of water over the thatch, to prevent its 
catching fire; but all was in vain : thick flakes of 
fire fell upon it faster than they could be ex¬ 
tinguished, and in an hour’s time the dwelling- 
house was in a blaze. 

The first care of the sons had been to get their 
father and sisters out of danger; then, with great 
presence of mind, they collected every thing that 
was most valuable and portable, and laboured hard 
to save^poor James’s stock of haberdashery. They 
were all night hard at work: towards three o’clock 
the fire was got under, and darkness and silence 
succeeded. There was one roof of the house 
saved, under which the whole family rested for a 
few hours, till the return of daylight renewed the 
melancholy spectacle of their ruin. Hay, oats, 
straw, corn-ricks, barn, every thing that the farm¬ 
yard contained, was utterly consumed: the walls 
and some half-burnt beams remained of the dwell¬ 
ing-house, but it was no longer habitable. It was 
calculated that six hundred pounds would not re¬ 
pair the loss occasioned by this unfortunate accident. 
How the hay-rick had caught fire nobody knew. 


THE CONTRAST. 


155 


George, who had made up the hay-stack, was 
most inclined to think that the hay had not been 
sufficiently dried; and that the rick had heated 
from this cause. He blamed himself extremely; 
but his father declared he had seen, felt, and smelt 
the hay when the rick was making, and that it was 
as well saved hay as ever was brought into a farm¬ 
yard. This, in some measure, quieted poor 
George’s conscience: and he was yet more com¬ 
forted by Patty’s good-nature, who showed him a 
bucket of ashes which had been left very near the 
spot where the hay-rick stood. The servant-girl, 
who, though careless, was honest, confessed she 
recollected having accidentally left this bucket in 
that dangerous place the preceding evening; that 
she was going with it across the yard to the ash- 
hole, but she heard her lover whistle to her from 
the lane, and she set down the bucket in a hurry, 
ran to meet him, and forgot the ashes. All she 
could say in her own defence was that she did not 
think there was any fire in the bucket. 

Her good master forgave her carelessness: he 
said he was sure she reproached herself enough 
for it, as indeed she did; and the more so when 
her master spoke to her so kindly: she cried as if 
her heart would break, and all that could be done 


156 POPULAR TALES. 

to comfort her was to set her to work as hard as 
possible for the family. 

They did not, any of them, spend their time in 
vain lamentations: ready money was wanting to 
rebuild the house and barns, and James sold to a 
haberdasher in Monmouth all of his stock which 
had been saved out of the fire, and brought the 
money to his father. 

“ Father,” said he, “ you gave this to me when 
you were able to afford it; you want it now, and I 
can do very well without it. I will go and be 
shopman in some good shop in Monmouth; and 
by degrees I shall get on, and do very well in the 
world. It would be strange if I did not, after the 
education you have given me.” 

The father took the money from his son with 
tears of pleasure. “ It is odd enough,” said he, 
“ that I should feel pleasure at such a time; but 
this is the blessing of having good children. As 
long as we all are ready to help one another in this 
manner, we can never be very miserable, happen 
what may. Now let us think of rebuilding our 
house,” continued the active old man. “ Frank, 
reach me down my hat. I’ve a twinge of the rheu¬ 
matism in this arm: I caught a little cold the night 
of the fire, I believe; but stirring about will do me 


THE CONTRAST. 


157 


good, and I must not be lazy; I should be ashamed 
to be lazy among so many active young men.” 

The father and sons were very busy at work, 
when an ill-looking man rode up to them; and, 
after asking if their name was Frankland, put a 
paper into each of their hands. These papers were 
copies of a notice to quit their farm before the en¬ 
suing first of September, under pain of paying 
double rent for the same. 

“ This is some mistake, sir,” said old Frankland, 
mildly. 

“ No mistake, sir,” replied the stranger. “ You 
will find the notice is a good notice, and duly served. 
Your lease I have seen myself within these few 
days; it expired last May, and you have held over, 
contrary to law and justice, eleven months, this 
being April.” 

“ My father never did any thing contrary to law 
and justice in his whole life,” interrupted Frank, 
whose eyes flashed with indignation. 

“ Softly, Frank,” said his father, putting his hand 
on his son’s shoulder: “ softly, my dear boy; let 
this gentleman and I come to an understanding 
quietly. Here is some mistake, sir. It is very 
true that my lease expired last May; but I had a 
promise of a renewal from my good landlord.” 

14 


158 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ I don’t know, sir, anything of that,” replied 
the stranger, as he looked over a memorandum- 
book. “ I do not know whom you denominate your 
good landlord; that being no way of describing a 
man in the eye of the law: but if you refer to the 
original grantor, or lessor, Francis Folingsby, of 
Folingsby place, Monmouthshire, Esq., I am to in¬ 
form you that he died at Bath the 17th instant.” 

“ Died ! My poor landlord dead! I am very 
sorry for it.” 

“ And his nephew, Philip Folingsby, Esq., came 
into possession as heir at law,” continued the 
stranger, in an unvaried tone; “ and under his 
orders I act, having a power of attorney for that 
purpose.” 

“ But, sir, I am sure Mr. Philip Folingsby cannot 
know of the promise of renewal which I had from 
his uncle.” 

“ Verbal promises, you know, are nothing, sir; 
mere air without witnesses; and, if gratuitous on 
the part of the deceased, are noways binding, either 
in common law or equity, on the survivor or heir. 
In case the promise had been in writing, and on a 
proper stamp, it would have been something.” 

“It was not in writing, to be sure, sir,” said 


THE CONTRAST. 


159 


Frankland; “ but I thought my good landlord’s 
word was as good as his bond; and I said so.” 

“Yes,” cried Frank; “and I remember when 
you said so to him, I was by; and he answered, 
‘ You shall have my promise in writing, Such 
things are of little use between honest men; but 
who knows what may happen, and who may come 
after me ? Every thing about business should be 
put into writing. I would never let a tenant of 
mine be at an uncertainty. You have improved 
your farm, and deserve to enjoy the fruits of your 
own industry, Mr. Frankland.’ Just then company 
came in, and our landlord put off writing the pro¬ 
mise. He next day left the country in a hurry; 
and, I am sure, thought afterward he had given us 
the promise in writing.” 

“ Very clear evidence, no doubt, sir; but not at 
all to the point at present,” said the stranger. “As 
an agent, I am to know nothing but what is my 
employer’s intent. When we see the writing and 
stamp I shall be a better judge,” added he, with a 
sneer. “ In the mean time, gentlemen, I wish you 
a good morning; and you will please to observe 
that you have been duly served with notice to quit 
or pay double rent.” 

“ There can be no doubt, however,” said Frank, 


160 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ that Mr. Folingsby will believe you, father. He 
is a gentleman, I suppose, and not like this new 
agent, who talks like an attorney. I hate all 
attorneys.” 

“ All dishonest attorneys, I suppose you mean, 
Frank,” said the benevolent old man; who, even 
when his temper was most tried, never spoke, or 
even felt, with acrimony. 

The new landlord came into the country : and a 
few days after his arrival old Frankland went to 
wait upon him. There was little hope of seeing 
young Mr. Folingsby; he was a man whose head 
was at this time entirely full of gigs, and tandems, 
and unicorns: business was his aversion; plea¬ 
sure was his business. Money he considered only 
as the means of pleasure; and tenants only as 
machines who make money. He was neither ava¬ 
ricious nor cruel; but thoughtless and extravagant. 

While he appeared merely in the character of a 
young man of fashion, these faults were no offence 
to his equals, to whom they did no injury: but 
when he came into possession of a large estate, 
and when numbers were dependent upon him, they 
were severely felt by his inferiors. 

Mr. Folingsby had just gathered up the reins in 
hand and was seated in his unicorn, when Farmer 


THE CONTRAST 


161 


Frankland, who had been waiting some hours to 
see him, come to the side of the carriage. As he 
took off his hat the wind blew his gray hair over 
his face. 

“ Put on your hat, pray, my good friend; and 
don’t come near these horses, for I can’t answer 
for them. Have you any commands with me ?” 

“ I have been waiting some hours to speak to 
you, sir, but if you are not at leisure I will come 
again to-morrow morning,” said old Frankland. 

“ Ay, do so; call to-morrow morning; for now 
I have not one moment to spare,” said young 
Folingsby, as he whipped his horses and drove off 
as if the safety of the nation had depended upon 
twelve miles an hour. 

The next day, and the next, and the next, the 
old tenant called upon his young landlord, but 
without obtaining an audience: still he was desired 
to call to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow. 
He wrote several letters to him, but received no 
answer: at last, after giving half a guinea to his 
landlord’s gentleman, he gained admittance. Mr. 
Folingsby was drawing on his boots, and his horses 
were coming to the door. Frankland saw it was 
necessary to be concise in his story : he slightly 
touched on the principal circumstances,—the length 
14 # 


162 


POPULAR TALES. 


of time he had occupied his farm, the improve¬ 
ments he had made upon the land, and the mis¬ 
fortune which had lately befallen him. The boots 
were on by the time that he got to the promise of 
renewal and the notice to quit. 

“ Promise of renewal: I know of no such thing. 
Notice to quit; that’s my agent’s business; speak 
to him; he ’ll do you justice. I really am sorry 
for you, Mr. Frankland; very sorry; extremely 
sorry,—damn the rascal who made these boots !— 
but you see how I’m circumstanced ; haven’t a 
moment to myself; only came to the country for a 
few days; set out for Ascot races to-morrow; 
really have not a moment to think of any thing. 
But speak to Mr. Deal, my agent. He ’ll do you 
justice, I’m sure. I leave all these things to him. 
Jack, that bay horse is coming on—” 

“ I have spoken to your agent, sir,” said the old 
tenant, following his thoughtless young landlord; 
“ but he said that verbal promises without a wit¬ 
ness present were nothing but air; and I have 
nothing to rely on but your justice. I assare you, 
sir; I have not been an idle tenant: my land will 
show that I have not.” 

“ Tell Mr. Deal so; make him understand it in 
this light. I leave every thing of this sort to Mr. 


THE CONTRAST. 


163 


Deal. I really have not time for business, but 1 ’m 
sure Mr. Deal will do you justice.” 

This was all that could be obtained from the 
young landlord. His confidence in his agent’s 
sense of justice was somewhat misplaced. Mr. 
Deal had received a proposal from another tenant 
for Frankland’s farm; and with this proposal, a 
bank-note was sent, which spoke more forcibly 
than all that poor Frankland could urge. The 
agent took the farm from him; and declared he 
could not, in justice to his employer, do otherwise; 
because the new tenant had promised to build upon 
the land, a lodge fit for any gentleman to inhabit, 
instead of a farm-house. 

The transaction was concluded without Mr. Fo- 
lingsby’s knowing any thing more of the matter 
except signing the leases, which he did without 
reading them, and receiving half a years’ rent in 
hand as a fine, which he did with great satisfaction. 
He was ofien distressed for ready money, though 
he had a large estate; and his agent well knew how 
to humour him in his hatred of business. No in¬ 
terest could have persuaded Mr. Folingsby delit>e- 
rately to commit so base an action as that cf 
cheating a deserving old tenant out of a promised 
renewal; but, in fact, long before the leases were 


164 


POPULAR TALES. 


sent to him, he had totally forgotten every syllable 
that poor Frankland had said to him on the subject. 


CHAPTER II. 

The day on which they left their farm was a 
melancholy day to this unfortunate family. Mr. 
Frankland’s father and grandfather had been te¬ 
nants, and excellent tenants, to the Folingsby fa¬ 
mily ; all of them had occupied, and not only oc¬ 
cupied, but highly improved this farm. All the 
neighbours were struck with compassion, and cried 
shame upon Mr. Folingsby ! But Mr. Folingsby 
was at Ascot, and did not hear them. He was on 
the race-ground, betting hundreds upon a favourite 
horse; while this old man and his family were 
slowly passing in their covered cart down the lane 
which led from their farm, taking a last farewell of 
the fields they had cultivated, and the harvest they 
had sown, but which they were never to reap. 

Hannah, the servant-girl, who had reproached 
herself so bitterly for leaving the bucket of ashes 
near the hay-rick, was extremely active in assisting 
her poor master. Upon this occasion she seemed 



THE CONTRAST. 


165 


to be endowed with double strength ; and a degree 
of cleverness and presence of mind of which she had 
never shown any symptoms in her former life; but 
gratitude awakened all her faculties. 

Before she came to this family, she had lived 
some years with a farmer who, as she now recol¬ 
lected, had a small farm, with a snug cottage upon 
it, which was to be this very year out of lease. 
Without saying a word of her intentions, she got 
up early one morning, walked fifteen miles to her 
old master’s, and offered to pay out of her wages, 
which she had laid by for six or seven years, the 
year’s rent of this farm beforehand, if the farmer 
would let it to Mr. Frankland. The farmer would 
not take the girl’s money, for he said he wanted 
no security from Mr. Frankland or his son George: 
they bore the best of characters, he observed, and 
no people in Monmouthshire could understand the 
management of land better. He willingly agreed 
to let him the farm; but it contained only a few 
acres, and the house was so small that it could 
scarcely lodge above three people. 

Here old Frankland and his eldest son George 
settled. James went to Monmouth, where he be¬ 
came shopman to Mr. Cleghorn, a haberdasher, 
who took him in preference to three other young 


166 


POPULAR TALES. 


men who applied on the same day. “ Shall I tell 
you the reason why I fixed upon you, James?” 
said Mr. Cleghorn. “ It was not whim ; I had my 
reasons.” 

“ I suppose,” said James, “ you thought I had 
been honestly and well brought up ; as I believe in 
former times, sir, you knew something of my mo¬ 
ther.” 

“ Yes, sir; and in former times I knew something 
of yourself. You may forget, but I do not, that 
when you were a child not more than nine years 
old,* you came to this shop to pay a bill of your 
mother’s : the bill was cast up a pound too little : 
you found out the mistake, and paid me the money. 
I dare say you are as good an accountant and as 
honest a fellow still. I have just been terribly 
tricked by a lad to whom I trusted foolishly ; but 
this will not make me suspicious towards you, be¬ 
cause I know how you have been brought up ; and 
that is the best security a man can have.” 

Thus, even in childhood, the foundation of a good 
character may be laid; and thus children inherit 
the good name of their parents. A rich inheritance! 
of which they cannot be deprived by the utmost 
malice of fortune. 


This circumstance is a fact. 


THE CONTRAST. 


167 


The good characters of Fanny and Patty Frank- 
land were well known in the neighbourhood; and 
when they could no longer afford to live at home, 
they found no difficulty in getting places. On the 
contrary, several of the best families in Monmouth 
were anxious to engage them. Fanny went to live 
with Mrs. Hungerford, a lady of an ancient family, 
who was proud, but not insolent, and generous, but 
not what is commonly called affable. She had 
several children, and she hired Fanny Frankland 
for the particular purpose of attending them. 

“ Pray let me see tha* you exactly obey my or¬ 
ders, young woman, with respect to my children,” 
said Mrs. Hungerford, “and you shall have no rea¬ 
son to complain of the manner in which you are 
treated in this house. It is my wish to make every¬ 
body happy in it, from the highest to the lowest. 
You have, I understand, received an education 
above your present station in life; and I hope and 
trust that you will deserve the high opinion I am, 
from that circumstance, inclined to form of you.” 

Fanny was rather intimidated by the haughti¬ 
ness of Mrs. Hunger ford’s manner; yet she felt a 
steady though modest confidence in herself, which 
was not displeasing to her mistress. 

About this time Patty also went into service. 


168 


POPULAR TALES. 


Her mistress was a Mrs. Crumpe, a very old rLh 
lady, who was often sick and peevish, and who con¬ 
fessed that she required an uncommonly good-hu¬ 
moured person to wait upon her. She lived a few 
miles from Monmouth, where she had many re¬ 
lations; but, on account of her great age and in¬ 
firmities, she led an extremely retired life. 

Frank was now the only person in the family 
who was not settled in the world. He determined 
to apply to a Mr. Barlow, an attorney of an excel¬ 
lent character. He had been much pleased with 
the candour and generosity Frank shownd in a 
quarrel with the Bettes worths; and he had pro¬ 
mised to befriend him, if ever it should be in his 
power. It happened that, at this time, Mr. Barlow 
was in want of a clerk; and as he knew Frank’s 
abilities, and had reason to feel confidence in his 
integrity, he determined to employ him in his office. 
Frank had once a prejudice against attorneys : he 
thought that they could not be honest men; but he 
was convinced of his mistake when he became ac¬ 
quainted with Mr. Barlow. This gentleman never 
practised any mean pettifogging arts; on the con¬ 
trary, he always dissuaded those who consulted him 
from commencing vexatious suits. Instead of fo¬ 
menting quarrels, it was his pleasure and pride to 


THE CONTRAST. 


169 


bring about reconciliations. It was said of Mr. 
Barlow, that he had lost more suits out of the courts, 
and fewer in them, than any attorney of his stand¬ 
ing in England. His reputation was now so great 
that he was consulted more as a lawyer than as an 
attorney. With such a master, Frank had a pros¬ 
pect of being extremely happy; and he deter¬ 
mined that nothing should be wanting on his part 
to ensure Mr. Barlow’s esteem and regard. 

James Frankland, in the mean time, went on 
happily with Mr. Cleghorn, the haberdasher; whose 
customers all agreed that his shop had never been 
so well attended as since this young man had been 
his foreman. His accounts were kept in the most 
exact manner; and his bills were made out with 
unrivalled neatness and expedition. His attend¬ 
ance on the shop was so constant that his master 
began to fear it might hurt his health; especially 
as he had never, till of late, been used to so con¬ 
fined a life. 

“You shall go abroad, James, these fine even¬ 
ings,” said Mr. Cleghorn. “ Take a walk in the 
country now and then in the fresh air. Don’t think 
I want to nail you always to the counter. Come, 
this is as fine an evening as you can wish: take 
your hat, and away; I ’ll mind the shop myself 
15 


170 


POPULAR TALES. 


till you come back. He must be a hard master, 
indeed, that does not know when he is well served, 
and that never will be my case I hope. Good ser¬ 
vants make good masters, and good masters good 
servants. Not that I mean to call you, Mr. James, 
a servant; that was only a slip of the tongue; and 
no matter for the tongue, where the heart means 
well, as mine does towards you.” 

Towards all the world Mr. Cleghorn was not 
disposed to be indulgent: he was not a selfish man, 
but he had a high idea of subordination in life. 
Having risen himself by slow degrees, he thought 
that ever) r man in trade should have what he called 
“ the rough as well as the smooth.” He saw that 
his new foreman bore the rough well; and there¬ 
fore he was now inclined to give him some of the 
smooth. 

James, who was extremely fond of his brother 
Frank, called upon him, and took him to Mrs. Hun- 
gerford’s, to ask Fanny to accompany them in this 
walk. They had seldom seen her since they had 
quitted their father’s house and lived in Monmouth; 
and they were disappointed when they were told 
by Mrs. Hungerford’s footman that Fanny was not 
at home; she was gone to walk out with the chil¬ 
dren The man did not know which road they 


THE CONTRAST. 


171 


went, so they had no hopes of meeting her; and 
they took their way through one of the shady lanes 
near Monmouth. It was late before they thought 
of returning: for, after several weeks’ confinement 
in close houses, the fresh air, green fields, and 
sweet-smelling wild flowers in the hedges were de¬ 
lightful novelties. “ Those who see these things 
every day,” said James, “ scarcely notice them ; I 
remember I did not when I lived at our farm. So 
things, as my father used to say, are made equal 
to people in this world. We who are hard at work 
in a close room all day long have more relish for 
an evening walk, a hundred to one, than those who 
saunter about from morning till night.” 

The philosophic reflections of James were inter¬ 
rupted by the merry voices of a troop of children, 
who were getting over a stile into the lane where 
he and Frank were walking. The children had 
huge nosegays of honeysuckles, dog-roses, and 
bluebells in their little hands ; and they gave their 
flowers to a young woman who attended them, beg¬ 
ging she would hold them while they got over the 
stile. James and Frank went to offer their ser¬ 
vices to help the children; and then they saw that 
the young woman who held the flowers was their 
sister Fanny. 


172 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ Our own Fanny!” said Frank. “ How lucky 
this is ! It seems almost a year since I saw you. 
We have been all the way to Mrs. Hunger ford’s, 
to look for you ; and have been forced to take half 
our walk without you ; but the other half will make 
Amends. I’ve a hundred things to say to you: 
which is your way home? Take the longest way, 
I entreat you. Here is my arm. What a delight¬ 
ful fine evening it is ! But what’s the matter?” 

“ It is a very fine evening,” said Fanny, hesi¬ 
tating a little; “ and I hope to-morrow will be as 
fine. I ’ll ask my mistress to let me walk out with 
you to-morrow ; but this evening I cannot stay with 
you, because I have the children under my care; 
and I have promised her that I will never walk 
with any one when they are with me.” 

“ But your own brother!” said Frank, a little 
angry at this refusal. 

“ I promised I would not walk with any one; 
and surely you are somebody: so good night; 
good-by,” replied Fanny, endeavouring to turn off 
his displeasure with a laugh. 

“ But what harm, I say, can I do the children, 
by walking with you ?” cried Frank, catching hold 
of her gown. 

‘ I don’t know; but I know what the orders of 


THE CONTRAST. 


173 


my mistress are,* and you know, dear Frank, that 
while I live with her I am bound to obey them.” 

“ Oh, Frank, she must obey them,” said James. 

Frank loosened his hold of Fanny’s gown im¬ 
mediately. “ You are right, dear Fanny,” said 
he; “ you are right, and I was wrong: so good¬ 
night ; good-by. Only remember to ask leave to 
walk with us to-morrow evening; for I have had a 
letter from father and brother George, and I want 
to show it you. Wait five minutes and I can read 
it to you now, Fanny.” 

Fanny, though she was anxious to hear her 
father’s letter, would not wait, but hurried away 
with the children that were under her care; saying 
she must keep her promise to her mistress exactly. 
Frank followed her, and put the letter into her 
hands. “ You are a dear good girl, and deserve 
all the fine things father says of you in this letter. 
Take it, child: your mistress does not forbid you 
receiving a letter from your father, I suppose. I 
shall wish her hanged, if she does not let you walk 
with us to-morrow,” whispered he. 

The children frequently interrupted Fanny as 
she was reading her father’s letter. “ Pray pull 
that high dog-rose for me, Fanny,” said one. 
“ Pray hold me up to that large honeysuckle,” said 
15 * 


174 


POPULAR TALES. 


another. “And do, Fanny,” said the youngest 
boy, “ let us go home by the common, that I may 
see the glowworms. Mamma said I might; and 
while we are looking for the glowworms, you can sit 
on a stone, or a bank, and read your letter in peace.” 

Fanny, who was always very ready to indulge 
the children in any thing which her mistress had 
not forbidden, agreed to this proposal; and when 
they came to the common, little Gustavus, for that 
was the name of the eldest boy, found a charming 
seat for her, and she sat down to read the letter 
while the children ran to hunt for glowworms. 

Fanny read her father’s letter over three times; 
and yet few people except those who have the hap¬ 
piness to love a father as well, and to have a father 
as deserving to be loved, would think it at all worth 
reading even once. 

“ My dear Boys and Girls, 

“ It is a strange thing to me to be without you; 
but with me or from me, I am sure you are doing 
well; and that is a great comfort; ay, the best a 
father can have, especially at my age. I am 
heartily glad to hear that my Frank has, by his 
own deserts, got so good a place with that excellent 
man Mr. Barlow. He does not hate attorneys now, 


THE CONTRAST. 


175 


I am sure. Indeed, it is my belief he could no2 
hate anybody for half an hour together if he was 
to do his worst. Thank God, none of my children 
have been brought up to bo revengeful or envious, 
and they are not fighting with one another, as I 
hear the poor Bettesworths now all are for the for¬ 
tune. ‘ Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, 
than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.’ I need 
not have troubled myself to write this text to any 
of you; but old men will be talkative. My rheu¬ 
matism, however, prevents me from being as talk¬ 
ative as I could wish. It has been rather severe 
or so, owing to the great cold I caught the day that 
I was obliged to wait so long at Squire Folingsby’s 
in my wet clothes. But I hope soon to be stirring 
again, and to be able to take a share of the work 
about our little farm with your dear brother George. 
Poor fellow! he has so much to do, and does so 
much, that I fear he will overwork himself. He is 
at this present time out in the little field opposite 
my window, digging up the docks, which are very 
hard to conquer; he has made a brave large heap 
of them, but I wish to my heart he would not toil 
so desperately. 

“ I desire, my dear James and Frank, you will 
not confine yourselves too much in your shop and 


176 


POPULAR TALES. 


at your desk: this is all I have to dread for either 
of you. Give my love and blessing to my sweet 
girls. If Fanny was not as prudent as she is 
pretty, I should be in fear for her; hearing, as I 
do, that Mrs. Hungerford keeps so much fine com¬ 
pany. A waiting-maid in such a house is in a 
dangerous place: but my Fanny, I am sure, will 
ever keep in mind her mother’s precepts and ex¬ 
ample. I am told that Mrs. Crumpe, Patty’s mis¬ 
tress, is (owing I suppose to her great age and in¬ 
firmities) difficult in her humour: but my Patty 
has so even and pleasant a temper that I defy any 
one living, that knows her, not to love her. My 
hand is now quite tired of writing, this being penned 
with my left, as my right arm is not yet free from 
rheumatism: I have not James with me to write. 
God bless and preserve you all, my dear children. 
With such comforts I can have nothing to complain 
of in this world. This I know, I would not ex¬ 
change any one of you for all my neighbour 
Bettesworth’s fine fortune. Write soon to 

“ Your affectionate father, 

“ B. Frankland.” 

“•Look! look at the glowworms!” cried the 
children, gathering round Fanny, just as she had 


THE CONTRAST. 


177 


finished reading her letter. There were prodigious 
numbers of them on this common; and they shone 
over the whole ground in clusters, or singly, like 
little stars. 

While the children were looking with admiration 
and delight at this spectacle, their attention was 
suddenly diverted from the glowworms by the 
sound of a French horn. They looked round, and 
perceived that it came from the balcony of a house 
which was but a few yards distant from the spot 
where they were standing. 

“ Oh! let us go nearer to the balcony!” said the 
children, “ that we may hear the music better.” 
A violin and a clarionet at this moment began to 
play. 

“ Oh! let us go nearer!’’ repeated the children, 
drawing Fanny with all their little force towards 
the balcony. 

“ My dears, it is growing late,” said she, “ and 
we must make haste home. There is a crowd of 
company, you see, at the door and at the windows 
of that house; and if we go near to it some of 
them will certainly speak to you, and that you 
know your mamma would not like.” 

The children paused, and looked at one another, 
as if inclined to submit; but at this moment a 


178 


POPULAR TALES. 


kettle-drum was heard, and little Gustavus could 
not resist his curiosity to hear and see more of this 
instrument: he broke loose from Fanny’s hands, 
and escaped to the house, exclaiming, “ I must and 
will hear it, and see it too!” 

Fanny was obliged to pursue him into the midst 
of the crowd; he made his way up to a young 
gentleman in regimentals, who took him up in his 
arms, saying, “ By Jove, a fine little fellow ! A 
soldier, every inch of him ! By G— he shall see 
the drum, and beat it too; let us see who dares say 
to the contrary.” 

As the gallant ensign spoke, he carried Gusta¬ 
vus up a flight of stairs that led to the balcony. 
Fanny, in great anxiety, called after him, to beg 
that he would not detain the child, who was trusted 
to her care: her mistress, she said, would be ex¬ 
tremely displeased with her if she disobeyed her 
orders. 

She was here interrupted in her remonstrance by 
the shrill voice of a female who stood on the same 
stair with the ensign, and whom, notwithstanding 
the great alteration in her dress, Fanny recognised 
to be Sally Bettesworth. Jilting Jessy stood beside 
her. 

“ Fanny Frankland, I protest! What a pother 


THE CONTRAST. 


179 


she keeps about nothing,” cried Saucy Sally. 
“ Know your betters, and keep your distance, young 
woman. Who cares whether your mistress is dis^ 
pleased or not ? She can’t turn us away, can she, 
pray ? She can’t call Ensign Bloomington to ac¬ 
count, can she, hey?” 

An insolent laugh closed this speech; a laugh 
in which several of the crowd joined: but some 
gentlemen were interested by Fanny’s beautiful 
and modest countenance as she looked up to the 
balcony, and with tears in her eyes entreated to be 
heard. “ Oh, for shame, Bloomington! Give 
her back the boy. It is not fair that she should 
lose her place,” cried they. 

Bloomington would have yielded; but Saucy 
Sally stood before him, crying, in a threatening 
tone, “I’ll never speak to you again, I promise 
you, Bloomington, if you give up. A fine thing 
indeed for a man and a soldier to give up to a 
woman and a servant-girl! and an impertinent 
servant-girl! Who cares for her or her place 
either ?” 

“ I do! I do!” exclaimed little Gustavus, spring¬ 
ing from the ensign’s arms. “ I care for her! 
She is not an impertinent girl; and I’ll give up 


180 


POPULAR TALES. 


seeing the kettle-drum, and go home with her di¬ 
rectly, with all my heart.” 

In vain Sally attempted to withhold him; the 
boy ran down the stairs to Fanny, and marched 
off with her in all the conscious pride of a hero, 
whose generosity has fairly vanquished his pas¬ 
sions. Little Gustavus was indeed a truly gene¬ 
rous child: the first thing he did, when he got 
home, was to tell his mother all that had passed 
this evening. Mrs. Hungerford was delighted 
with her son, and said to him, “ I cannot, 1 am 
sure, reward you better, my dear, than by re¬ 
warding this good young woman. The fidelity 
with which she has fulfilled my orders, in all that 
regards my children, places her, in my opinion, 
above the rank in which she was born. Hence¬ 
forward she shall hold in my house a station to 
which her habits of truth, gentleness, and good 
sense entitle her.” 

From this time forward, Fanny, by Mrs. Hun- 
gerford’s desire, was always present when the 
children took their lessons from their several 
masters. Mrs. Hungerford advised her to apply 
herself to learn all those things which were neces¬ 
sary for a governess to young ladies. “ When 
you speak, your language in general is good, and 


THE CONTRAST. 


181 


correct; and no pains shall be wanting on my part,” 
said this haughty but benevolent lady, “ to form 
your manners, and to develope your talents. This 
I partly owe you for your care of my children; 
and I am happy to reward my son Gustavus in a 
manner which I am certain will be most agreeable 
to him.” 

“ And, mamma,” said the little boy, “ may she 
walk out sometimes with her brothers? for I do 
believe she loves them as well as I love my sis¬ 
ters.” 

Mrs. Hungerford permitted Fanny to walk out 
for an hour, every morning, during the time that 
her children were with their dancing-master; and 
at this hour sometimes her brother James, and 
sometimes her brother Frank, could be spared; and 
they had many pleasant walks together. What a 
happiness it was to them to have been thus bred 
up, from their earliest years, in friendship with one 
another! This friendship was now the sweetest 
pleasure of their lives. 

Poor Patty ! She regretted that she could not 
join in these pleasant meetings; but, alas! she 
was so useful, so agreeable, and so necessary to 
her infirm mistress, that she could never be spared 
from home. “ Where’s Patty? why does not 
16 


182 


POPULAR TALES. 


Patty do this ?” were Mrs. Crump’s constant ques¬ 
tions whenever she was absent. Patty had all the 
business of the house upon her hands, because 
nobody could do any thing so well as Patty. Mrs. 
Crumpe found that no one could dress her but 
Patty; nobody could make her bed so that she 
could sleep on it, but Patty; no one could make 
jelly, or broth, or whey that she could taste, 
but Patty; no one could roast, or boil, or bake, but 
Patty. Of course all these things must be done by 
nobody else. The ironing of Mrs. Crumpe’s caps, 
which had exquisitely nice plaited borders, at last 
fell to Patty’s share; because once, when the 
laundry-maid was sick, she plaited one so charm¬ 
ingly, that her lady would never afterward wear 
any but of her plaiting. Now Mrs. Crumpe 
changed her cap, or rather had her cap changed, 
three times a day; and never wore the same cap 
twice. 

The labours of washing, ironing, plaiting, roast¬ 
ing, boiling, baking, making jelly, broth, and whey 
were not sufficient: Mrs. Crumpe took it into her 
head that she could eat no butter but of Patty’s 
churning. But what was worse than all, not a 
night passed without Patty’s being called up to see 
“ what could be the matter with the dog that was 


TIIE CONTRAST. 


183 


barking, or the cat that was mewing ?” And when 
she was just sinking to sleep again, at daybreak, 
her lady, in whose room she slept, would call out, 
“Patty! Patty! there’s a dreadful noise in the 
chicken-yard.” 

“ Oh, ma’am, it is only the cocks crowing.” 

“ Well, do step out, and hinder them from crow- 
ng at this terrible rate.” 

“ But, ma’am, I cannot hinder them indeed.” 

“ Oh, yes, you could if you were up. Get up 
and whip ’em, child. Whip ’em all round, or I 
shall not sleep a wink more this night.”* 

How little poor Patty slept her lady never con¬ 
sidered : not that she was in reality an ill-natured 
woman, but sickness inclined her to be peevish; 
and she had so long been used to be humoured and 
w r aited upon by relations and servants, who expect¬ 
ed she would leave them rich legacies, that she 
considered herself as a sort of golden idol, to whom 
all that approached should and would bow as low 
as she pleased. Perceiving that almost all around 
her were interested, she became completely selfish. 
She was from morning till night, from night till 
morning, nay, from year’s end to year’s end, so 


* Taken from life. 


184 


POPULAR TALES. 


much in the habit of seeing others employed for 
her, that she absolutely considered this to be the 
natural and necessary course of things; and she 
quite forgot to think of the comforts, or even of the 
well-being, of those creatures who were “ born for 
her use, and live but to oblige her.” 

From time to time she was so far wakened to 
feeling by Patty’s exertions and good-humour, that 
she would say, to quiet her own conscience, 
“Well! well! I’ll make it all up to her.in my 
will! I ’ll make it all up to her in my will!” 

She took it for granted that Patty, like the rest 
of her dependants, was governed entirely by mer¬ 
cenary considerations; and she was persuaded that 
the hopes of this legacy would secure Patty her 
slave for life. In this she was mistaken. 

One morning Patty came into her room with a 
face full of sorrow; a face so unlike her usual 
countenance that even her mistress, unaccustomed 
as she was to attend to the feelings of others, could 
not help noticing the change. 

“ Well! What’s the matter, child?” said she. 

“ Oh! sad news, madam!” said Patty, turning 
aside to hide her tears. 

“But what’s the matter, child, I say? Can’t 
you speak, whatever it is, hey ? What, have you 


THE CONTRAST. 


185 


burnt my best cap in the ironing, hey? Is that 
it?” 

“ Oh ! worse, worse, ma’am !” 

“ Worse! What can be worse?” 

“ My brother, ma’am, my brother George is ill, 
very ill of a fever; and they don’t think he’ll live! 
Here is my father’s letter, ma’am!” 

“ Lord! how can I read it without spectacles ? 
and why should I read it, when you’ve told me all 
that’s in it ? How the child cries !” continued Mrs. 
Crumpe, raising herself a little on her pillow, and 
looking at Patty with a sort of astonished cu 
riosity. “ Heigho! But I can’t stay in bed this 
way till dinner-time. Get me my cap, child, and 
dry your eyes; for crying won’t do your brother 
any good.” 

Patty dried her eyes. “ No: crying will not do 
him any good,” said she, “ but—” 

“ But where is my cap ? I don’t see it on the 
dressing-table.” 

“ No, ma’am: Martha will bring it in a minute 
or two: she is plaiting it.” 

“ I will not have it plaited by Martha. Go and 
do it yourself.” 

“ But, ma’am,” said Patty, who, to her mistress’s 
surprise, stood still, notwithstanding she heard this 
16 * 


186 


POPULAR TALES. 


order, “ I hope you will be so good as to give uk 
leave to go to my poor brother to-day. My brothers 
and sister are with him, and he wants to see me; 
and they have sent a horse for me.” 

“ No matter what they have sent,* you sha’n’t 
go; I can’t spare you. If you choose to serve 
me, serve me. If you choose to serve your brother, 
serve your brother, and leave me.” 

“ Then, madam,” said Patty, “ I must leave you : 
for I cannot but choose to serve my brother at such 
a time as this, if I can serve him; which God 
grant I mayn’t be late to do!” 

“ What! You will leave me! Leave me con¬ 
trary to my orders! Take notice, then: these 
doors you shall never enter again, if you leave me 
now,” cried Mrs. Crumpe, who, by this unexpected 
opposition to her orders, was actually worked up 
to a state unlike her usual peevishness. She started 
up in her bed, and growing quite red in the face, 
cried, “ Leave me now, and you leave me for ever. 
Remember that! Remember that!” 

“ Then, madam, I must leave you for ever,” said 
Patty, moving towards the door. “ I wish you your 
health and happiness; and am sorry to break so 
short.” 

“ The girl’s an idiot!” cried Mrs. Crumpe. 


THE CONTRAST. 187 

“After this you cannot expect that I should re¬ 
member you in my will.” 

“ No, indeed, madam; I expect no such thing,” 
said Patty. Her hand was on the lock of the door 
as she spoke. 

“ Then,” said Mrs. Crumpe, “ perhaps you will 
think it worth your while to stay with me, when I 
tell you I have not forgot you in my will. Con¬ 
sider that, child, before you turn the handle of the 
door. Consider that, and don’t disoblige me for 
ever.” 

“ Oh, madam, consider my poor brother. I am 
sorry to disoblige you for ever; but I can consider 
nothing but my poor brother,” said Patty. The 
lock of the door turned quickly in her hand. 

“ Why! Is your brother rich 1 What upon 
earth do you expect from this brother, that can 
make it worth your while to behave to me in this 
strange way ?” said Mrs. Crumpe. 

Patty was silent with astonishment for a few mo¬ 
ments, and then answered, “ I expect nothing from 
him, madam; he is as poor as myself; but that 
does not make me love him the less.” 

Before Mrs. Crumpe could understand this last 
speech Patty had left the room. Her mistress sat 
up in her bed, in the same attitude, for some minutes 


88 


POPULAR TALES. 


after she was gone, looking fixedly at the place 
where Patty had stood: she could scarcely recover 
from her surprise; and a multitude of painful 
thoughts crowded upon her mind. 

“ If I was dying, and poor, who would come to 
me? Not a relation I have in the world would 
come near me! Not a creature on earth loves me 
as this poor girl loves her brother, who is as poor 
as herself.” 

Here her reflections were interrupted by hearing 
the gallopping of Patty’s horse as it passed by the 
windows. Mrs. Crumpe tried to compose herself 
again to sleep, but she could not; and in half an 
hour’s time she rang the bell violently, took her 
purse out of her pocket, counted out twenty bright 
guineas, and desired that a horse should be saddled 
immediately, and that her steward should gallop 
after Patty, and offer her that whole sum in hand , 
if she would return. “ Begin with one guinea, and 
bid on till you come up to her price,” said Mrs. 
Crumpe. “ Have her back again I will, if it was 
only to convince myself that she is to be had for 
money as well as other people.” 

The steward, as she counted the gold in his hand, 
thought it was a great sum to throw away for such 
a whim: he had never seen his lady take the whim 


THE CONTRAST. 


189 


of giving away ready money before; but it was in 
vain to remonstrate; she was peremptory, and he 
obeyed. 

In two hours’ time he returned; and Mrs. Crumpe 
saw her gold again with extreme astonishment. 
The steward said he could not prevail upon Patty 
even to look at the guineas. Mrs. Crumpe now 
flew into a violent passion, in which none of our 
readers will probably sympathize: we shall there¬ 
fore forbear to describe it. 


CHAPTER III. 

When Patty came within half a mile of the 
cottage in which her father lived, she met Hannah, 
the faithful servant, who had never deserted the 
family in their misfortunes: she had been watch¬ 
ing all the morning on the road for the first sight 
of Patty; but when she saw her, and came quite 
close up to her, she had no power to speak; and 
Patty was so much terrified that she would not ask 
her a single question. She walked her horse a 
slow pace, and kept silence. 

“ Won’t you go on, ma’am ?” said Hannah, at 



190 


POPULAR TALES. 


last forcing herself to speak. “ Won’t you go on 
a bit faster I He’s almost wild to see you.” 

“ He is alive then!” cried Patty. The horse 
was in full gallop directly, and she was soon at her 
father’s door. James and Frank were there watch¬ 
ing for her: they lifted her from the horse; and 
feeling that she trembled so much as to be scarcely 
able to stand, they would have detained her a little 
while in the air; but she passed or rather rushed 
into the room where her brother lay. He took no 
notice of her when she came in; for he was in¬ 
sensible. Fanny was supporting his head; she 
held out her hand to Patty, who went on tiptoe to 
the side of the bed. “ Is he asleep ?” whispered 
she. 

“ Not asleep, but—he ’ll come to himself pre¬ 
sently,” continued Fanny, “ and he will be very, 
very glad you are come; and so will my father.” 

“ Where is my father ?” said Patty; “ I don’t see 
him.” 

Fanny pointed to the farthest end of the room, 
where he was kneeling at his devotion. The shut¬ 
ters being half-closed, she could but just see the 
faint beam which shone upon his gray hairs. He 
rose, came to his daughter Patty, with an air of 
resigned grief, and taking her hand between both 


THE CONTRAST. 191 

of his, said, “ My love, we must lose him—God’s 
will be done!” 

“ Oh! there is hope, there is hope stil!!” said 
Patty. “ See! The colour is coming back to his 
lips again; his eyes open! Oh! George, dear 
George, dear brother! It is your own sister Patty: 
don’t you know Patty ?” 

“ Patty ! Yes. Why does not she come to me ? 
I would go to her if I could,” said the sufferer, 
without knowing what he talked of. “ Is not she 
come yet? Send another horse, Frank. Why, it 
is only six miles. Six miles in three hours, that 
is—how many miles an hour? ten miles, is it? 
Don’t hurry her—don’t tell her I’m so bad; nor 
my father—don’t let him see me, nor James, nor 
Frank, nor pretty Fanny, nor anybody—they are 
all too good to me: I only wished to see poor Patty 
once before I die; but don’t frighten her—I shall 
be very well, tell her—quite well by the time she 
comes.” 

After running on in this manner for some time, 
his eyes closed again, and he lay in a state of stupor. 
He continued in this condition for some time: at 
last his sisters, who were watching beside the bed, 
heard a knocking at the door. It was Frank and 
James: they had gone for a clergyman, whom 


192 


POPULAR TALES. 


George, before he became delirious, had desired to 
see. The clergyman was come, and with him a 
benevolent physician, who happened to be at his 
house, and who insisted upon accompanying him. 
As soon as the physician saw the poor young man, 
and felt his pulse, he perceived that the ignorant 
apothecary who had been first employed had en¬ 
tirely mistaken George’s disease, and had treated 
him improperly. His disease was a putrid fever, 
and the apothecary had bled him repeatedly. The 
physician thought he could certainly have saved 
his life, if he had seen him two days sooner; but 
now it was a hopeless case. All that could be done 
for him he tried. 

Towards evening, the disease seemed to take a 
favourable turn. George came to his senses, knew 
his father, his brothers, and Fanny, and spoke to 
each with his customary kindness, as they stood 
round his bed: he then asked whether poor Patty 
was come. When he saw her, he thanked her 
tenderly for coming to him; but could not recollect 
he had any thing particular to say to her. 

“I only wished to see you all together, to thank 
you for your good-nature to me ever since I was 
born, and to take leave of you before I die; for I 
feel that I am dying. Nay, do not cry so! My 


THE CONTRAST. 


193 


father! Oh! my father is most to be pitied ; but 
he will have James and Frank led.” 

Seeing his father’s affliction, which the good old 
man struggled in vain to subdue, George broke off 
here; he put his hand to his head, as if fearing it 
was again growing confused. 

“ Let me see our good clergyman, now that I 
am well enough to see him,” said he. He then 
took a hand of each of his brothers and sisters, 
joined them together, and pressed them to his lips, 
looking from them to his father, whose back was 
now turned. “ You understand me,” whispered 
George: “ he can never come to want while you 
are left to work and comfort him. If I should not 
see you again in this world, farewell! Ask my 
father to give me his blessing!” 

“ God bless you, my son! God bless you, my 
dear good son! God will surely bless so - good a 
son!” said the agonized father, laying his hand 
upon his son’s forehead, which even now was cold 
with the damp of death. 

“ What a comfort it is to have a father’s bless¬ 
ing !” said George. “ May you all have it when 
you are as I am now!” 

“ I shall be out of this world long, long before 
that time, I hope,” said the poor old man, as he left 

17 


194 POPULAR TALES. 

the room. “ But God’s will be done ! Send the 
clergyman to my boy!” 

The clergyman remained in the room but a short 
time: when he returned to the family, they saw 
by his looks that all was over ! 

There was a solemn silence. 

“ Be comforted,” said the good clergyman. 
“ Never man left this world with a clearer con¬ 
science, or had happier hope of a life to come. Be 
comforted. Alas ! at such a time as this you can¬ 
not be comforted by any thing that the tongue of 
man can say.” 

All the family attended the funeral. It was on 
a Sunday, just before morning prayers; and as 
soon as George was interred, his father, brothers, 
and sisters left the churchyard, to avoid being seen 
by the gay people who were coming to their devo¬ 
tion. As they went home, they passed through 
the field in which George used to work: there they 
saw his heap of docks, and his spade upright in the 
ground beside it, just as he had left it the last time 
that he had ever worked. 

The whole family stayed for a few days with their 
poor father. Late one evening, as they were all 
walking out together in the fields, a heavy snow 
began to fall; and James urged his father to make 


THE CONTRAST. 


195 


haste home, lest he should catch cold, and should 
have another fit of the rheumatism. They were 
then at some distance from their cottage; and 
Frank, who thought he knew a short way home, 
took them by a new road, which unluckily led them 
far out of their way; it brought them unexpected¬ 
ly within sight of their old farm, and of the new 
house which Mr. Bettesworth had built upon it. 

“ Oh ! my dear father, 1 am sorry I brought you 
this way,” cried Frank. “ Let us turn back.” 

“ No, my son, why should we turn back ?” said 
his father, mildly; “ we can pass by these fields, 
and this house, I hope, without coveting our neigh¬ 
bour’s goods.” 

As they came near the house, he stopped at the 
gate to look at it. “ It is a good house,” said he ; 
“ but I have no need to envy any man a good 
house; I, that have so much better things—good 
children!” 

Just as he uttered these words, Mr. Betteswortlfs 
house door opened, and three or four men appeared 
on the stone steps, quarrelling and fighting. The 
loud voices of Fighting Bob and Wild Will were 
heard too plainly. 

“ We have no business here,” said old Frank- 
land, turning to his children: “ let us go.” 


196 


POPULAR TALES. 


The combatants pursued each other with such 
furious rapidity that they were near to the gate in 
a few instants. 

“ Lock the gate, you without there, whoever you 
are! Lock the gate! or I ’ll knock you down when 
I come up, whoever you are,” cried Fighting Bob, 
who was hindmost in the race. 

Wild Will was foremost; he kicked open the 
gate, but his foot slipped as he was going through: 
his brother overtook him, and, seizing him by the 
collar, cried, “ Give me back the bank-notes, you 
rascal! they are mine, and I ’ll have ’em in spite 
of you.” 

“ They are mine, and I ’ll keep ’em in spite of 
you,” retorted Will, who was much intoxicated. 

“Oh!,what a sight! brothers fighting! Oh! 
part them, part them! Hold! hold! for heaven’s 
sake!” cried old Frankland to them. 

Frank and James held them asunder, though 
they continued to abuse one another in the grossest 
terms. Their father, by this time, came up: he 
wrung his hands, and wept bitterly. 

“ Oh! shame, shame to me in my old age!” cried 
he: “ can’t you two let me live the few years I have 
to live in peace? Ah, neighbour Frankland, you 
are better off! My heart will break soon! These 


THE CONTRAST. 197 

children of mine will be the ruin and the death of 
me!” 

At these words the sons interrupted their father 
with loud complaints of the manner in which he 
had treated them. They had quarrelled with one 
another, and with their father, about money. The 
father charged them with profligate extravagance; 
and they accused him of sordid avarice. Mr. Frank- 
land, much shocked at this scene, besought them at 
least to return to their house, and not to expose 
themselves in this manner ,* especially now that 
they were in the station of gentlemen. Their pas¬ 
sions were too loud and brutal to listen to this ap¬ 
peal to their pride : their being raised to the rank 
of gentlemen could not give them principles or man¬ 
ners ; that can only be done by education. Des¬ 
pairing to effect any good, Mr. Frankland retired 
from this scene, and made the best of his way home 
to his peaceful cottage. 

“ My children,” said he to his family, as they 
sat down to their frugal meal, “ we are poor, but 
we are happy in one another. Was not I right to 
say I need not envy neighbour Bettesworth his fine 
house ? Whatever misfortunes befall me, I have 
the blessing of good children. It is a blessing I 
17 * 


198 


POPULAR TALES. 


•vould not exchange for any this world affords. 
God preserve them in health !” 

He sighed, and soon added, “ It is a bitter thing 
to think of a good son who is dead; but it is worse, 
perhaps, to think of a bad son who is alive. That 
is a misfortune I can never know. But, my dear 
boys and girls,” continued he, changing his tone, 
“ this idle way of life of ours must not last for ever. 
You are too poor to be idle; and so much the bet¬ 
ter for you. To-morrow you must all away to 
your own business.” 

“ But, father,” cried they all at once, “ which of 
us may stay with you.” 

“ None of you, my good children. You are all 
going on well in the world; and I will not take 
you from your good masters and mistresses.” 

Patty now urged that she had the strongest right 
to remain with her father ,* because Mrs. Crumpe 
would certainly refuse to receive her into her ser¬ 
vice again, after what had passed at their parting: 
but nothing could prevail upon Frankland ,* he 
positively refused to let any of his children stay 
with him. At last Frank cried, “ How can you 
possibly manage this farm without help? You must 
let either James or me stay with you, father. Sup- 


THE CONTRAST. 


199 


pose you should be seized with another fit of the 
rheumatism.” 

Frankland' paused for a moment, and then an¬ 
swered, “ Poor Hannah will nurse me if I fall 
sick. I am able still to pay her just wages. I will 
not be a burden to my children. As to this farm, 
I am going to give it up ; for, indeed,” said the old 
man, smiling, “ I should not be well able to manage 
it with the rheumatism in my spade-arm. My 
landlord, Farmer Hewitt, is a good-natured, friendly 
man; and he will give me my own time for the 
rent: nay, he tells me he would let me live in this 
cottage for nothing; but I cannot do that.” 

“ Then what will you do, dear father ?” said his 
sons. 

“ The clergyman who was here yesterday has 
made interest for a house for me which will cost 
me nothing, nor him neither; and I shall be very 
near you both, boys.” 

“ But, father,” interrupted Frank, “ I know, by 
your way of speaking, there is something about 
this house which you do not like.” 

“ That is true,” said old Frankland: “ but that 
is the fault of my pride, and of my old prejudices; 
which are hard to conquer at my time of life. It is 


/ 


200 


POPULAR TALES. 


certain I do not much like the thoughts of going 
into an almshouse.” 

“ An almshouse!” cried all his children at once, 
in a tone of horror. “ Oh ! father, you must not, 
indeed you must not, go into an almshouse!” 

The pride which renders the English yeoman 
averse to live upon public charity is highly advan¬ 
tageous to the industry and virtue of the nation. 
Even where it is instilled early into families as 
a prejudice, it is useful, and ought to be re¬ 
spected. 

Frank land’s children, shocked at the idea of 
their father’s going into an almshouse, eagerly 
offered to join together the money they had earned, 
and to pay the rent of the cottage in which he now 
lived; but Frankland knew that, if he took this 
money, his children would themselves be in dis¬ 
tress. He answered, with tears in his eyes, 

“ My dear children, I thank you all for your 
goodness; but I cannot accept of your offer. Since 
I am no longer able to support myself, I will not, 
from false pride, be the ruin of my children. I 
will not be a burden to them; and I prefer living 
upon public charity to accepting of the ostentatious 
liberality of any one rich man. I am come to a 
resolution, which nothing shall induce me to break. 


THE CONTRAST. 


201 


I am determined to live in the Monmouth alms¬ 
house—nay, hear me, my children, patiently—to 
live in the Monmouth almshouse for one year; and 
during that time I will not see any of you unless 1 
am sick. I lay my commands upon you, not to 
attempt to see me till this day twelvemonth. If at 
that time you are all together able to maintain me, 
without hurting yourselves, I will most willingly 
accept of your bounty for the rest of my days.” 

His children assured him they should be able to 
earn money sufficient to maintain him, without in¬ 
jury to themselves, long before the end of the 
year ; and they besought him to permit them to do 
so as soon as it was in their power; but he con¬ 
tinued firm in his resolution, and made them so¬ 
lemnly promise they would obey his commands, 
and not even attempt to see him during the ensuing 
year. He then took leave of them in a most af¬ 
fectionate manner, saying, “ I know, my dearest 
children, I have now given you the strongest pos¬ 
sible motive for industry and good conduct. This 
day twelvemonth we shall meet again ; and I hope 
it will be as joyful a meeting as this is a sorrowful 
parting.” His children, with some difficulty, ob¬ 
tained permission to accompany him to his new 
abode. 


202 


POPULAR TALES. 


The almshouses at Monmouth are far superior 
to common institutions of this kind; they are re¬ 
markably neat and comfortable little dwellings, and 
form a row of pretty cottages, behind each ot 
which there is a garden full of gooseberries, cur¬ 
rants, and a variety of useful vegetables. These 
the old men cultivate themselves. The houses are 
fitted up conveniently; and each individual is pro¬ 
vided with every thing that he wants in his own 
habitation: so that there is no opportunity or 
temptation for those petty disputes about property 
which often occur in charitable institutions that are 
not prudently conducted. Poor people who have 
their goods in common must necessarily become 
quarrelsome. 

“ You see,” said old Frankland, pointing to the 
shining row of pewter on the clean shelf over the 
fireplace in his little kitchen—“ you see I want for 
nothing here. I am not much to be pitied.” 

His children stood silent and dejected, while he 
dressed himself in the uniform belonging to the 
almshouse. Before they parted, they all agreed to 
meet at this place that day twelvemonth, and to 
bring with them the earnings of the year; they 
had hopes that thus, by their united efforts, a sum 
might be obtained sufficient to place their father 



THE CONTRAST. 


203 


once more in a state of independence. With these 
hopes they separated, and returned to their mas¬ 
ters and mistresses. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Patty went to Mrs. Crumpe’s to get her clothes 
which she had left there, and to receive some 
months’ wages, which were still due for her ser¬ 
vices. After what had passed, she had no idea 
that Mrs. Crumpe would wish she should stay with 
her; and she had heard of another place in Mon¬ 
mouth, which she believed would suit her in every 
respect. 

The first person she saw when she arrived at 
the house of her late mistress was Martha, who, 
with a hypocritical length of face, said to her, 
“ Sad news! sad news, Mrs. Patty ! The passion 
my lady was thrown into by your going away so 
sudden was of terrible detriment to her. That 
very night she had a stroke of the palsy, and has 
scarce spoken since.” 

“ Don’t take it to heart, it is none of your fault: 
don’t take it to heart, deal- Patty,” said Betty, the 


i 



204 


POPULAR TALES. 


housemaid, who was fond of Patty. “ What could 
you do but go to your brother? Here, drink this 
water, and don’t blame yourself at all about the 
matter. Mistress had a stroke sixteen months ago, 
afore ever you came into the house; and I dare 
say she’d have had this last, whether you had 
stayed or gone.” 

Here they were interrupted by the violent ring¬ 
ing of Mrs. Crumpe’s bell. They were in the 
room next to her; and as she heard voices louder 
than usual, she was impatient to know what was 
going on. Patty heard Mrs. Martha answer, as 
she opened her lady’s door, “ ’T is only Patty 
Frankland, ma’am, who is come for her clothes 
and her wages.” 

“ And she is very sorry to hear you have been 
so ill; very sorry,” said Betty, following to the 
door. 

“ Bid her come in,” said Mrs. Crumpe, in a 
voice more distinct than she had ever been heard 
to speak in since the day of her illness. 

“What! are you sorry for me, child?” said 
Mrs. Crumpe, fixing her eyes upon Patty’s. Patty 
made no answer; but it was plain how much she 
was shocked. 

“ Ay, I see you are sorry for me,” said her mis- 


THE CONTRAST. 


205 


tress. “ And so am I for you,” added she, stretch¬ 
ing out her hand, and taking hold of Patty’s black 
gown. “ You shall have a finer stuff than this for 
mourning for me. But I know that is not what 
you are thinking of; and that’s the reason I have 
more value for you than for all the rest of them 
put together. Stay with me, stay with me, to 
nurse me; you nurse me to my mind. You can¬ 
not leave me, in the way I am in now, when I ask 
you to stay.” 

Patty could not without inhumanity refuse ; she 
stayed with Mrs. Crumpe, who grew so dotingly 
fond of her that she could scarcely bear to have 
her a moment out of sight. She w r ould take nei¬ 
ther food nor medicines but from Patty’s hand ; 
and she would not speak, except in answer to Patty’s 
questions. The fatigue and confinement she was 
now forced to undergo were enough to hurt the 
constitution of any one who had not very strong 
health. Patty bore them with the greatest patience 
and good-humour; indeed, the consciousness that 
she was doing right supported her in exertions 
which would otherwise have been beyond her 
power. 

She had still more difficult trials to go through: 
Mrs. Martha was jealous of her favour with her 

18 


206 


POPULAR TALES. 


lady, and often threw out hints that some people had 
much more luck, and more cunning too, than other 
people; but that some people might perhaps be 
disappointed at last in their ends. 

Patty went on her own straight way, without 
minding these insinuations at first; but she was 
soon forced to attend to them. Mrs. Crumpe’s re¬ 
lations received intelligence from Mrs. Martha, that 
her lady was growing worse and worse every 
hour; and that she was quite shut up under the 
dominion of an artful servant-girl, who had gained 
such power over her that there was no knowing 
what the consequence might be. Mrs. Crumpe’s 
relations were much alarmed by this story; they 
knew she had made a will in their favour some 
years before this time, and they dreaded that Patty 
should prevail upon her to alter it, and should get 
possession herself of the fortune. They were par¬ 
ticularly struck with this idea, because an instance 
of undue power acquired by a favourite servant- 
maid over her doting mistress happened about this 
period to be mentioned in an account of a trial in 
the newspapers of the day. Mrs. Crumpe’s nearest 
relations were two grandnephews. The eldest was 
Mr. Josiah Crumpe, a merchant who was settled 
lit Liverpool; the youngest was that Ensign Bloom- 


THE CONTRAST. 


207 


ington whom we formerly mentioned. He had 
been intended for a merchant, but he would never 
settle to business : and at last ran away from the 
counting-house where he had been placed, and 
went into the army. He was an idle, extravagant 
young man : his great-aunt was by fits very angry 
with him, or very fond of him. Sometimes she 
would supply him with money ; at others she would 
forbid him her presence, and declare he should 
never see another shilling of hers. This had been 
her latest determination; but Ensign Bloomington 
thought he could easily get into favour again, and 
he resolved to force himself into the house. Mrs. 
Crumpe positively refused to see him: the day 
after this refusal he returned with a reinforcement, 
for which Patty was not in the least prepared: he 
was accompanied by Miss Sally Bettes worth in 
a regimental riding-habit. Jessy had been the 
original object of this gentleman’s gallantry; but 
she met with a new and richer lover, and of course 
jilted him. Sally, who was in haste to be married, 
took undisguised pains to fix the ensign; and she 
thought she was sure of him. But to proceed 
with our story. 

Patty was told that a lady and gentleman de¬ 
sired to see her in the parlour: she was scarcely 


208 


POPULAR TALES. 


in the room when Sally began, in a voice capable 
of intimidating the most courageous of scolds, 
“ Fine doings! Fine doings, here! You think 
you have the game in your own hands, I warrant, 
my lady paramount; but I’m not one to be bullied, 
you know of old.” 

“ Nor am I one to be bullied, I hope,” replied 
Patty, in a modest but firm voice. “Will you be 
pleased to let me know, in a quiet way, what are 
your commands with me, or my lady 1” 

“ This gentleman here must see your lady, as 
you call her. To let you into a bit of a secret, 
this gentleman and I is soon to be one; so no 
wonder I stir in this affair, and I never stir for no¬ 
thing; so it is as well for you to do it with fair 
words as foul. Without more preambling, please 
to show this gentleman into his aunt’s room, which 
sure he has the best right to see of any one in this 
world; and if you prevent it in any species, I ’ll 
have the law of you; and I take this respectable 
woman,” looking at Mrs. Martha, who came in 
with a salver of cakes and wine, “ I take this here 
respectable gentlewoman to be my witness, if you 
choose to refuse my husband (that is to be) ad¬ 
mittance to his true and lawful nearest relation upon 
earth. Only say the doors are locked, and that 


THE CONTRAST. 


209 


you won’t let him in; that’s all we ask of you, 
Mrs. Patty Paramount. Only say that afore this 
here witness.” 

“ Indeed, I shall say no such thing, ma’am,” re¬ 
plied Patty: “ for it is not in the least my wish to 
prevent the gentleman from seeing my mistress. 
It was she herself who refused to let him in; and 
I think, if he forces himself into the room, she will 
be apt to be very much displeased: but I shall not 
hinder him, if he chooses to try. There are the 
stairs, and my lady’s room is the first on the right- 
hand. Only, sir, before you go up, let me caution 
you, lest you should startle her so as to be the 
death of her. The least surprise or fright might 
bring on another stroke in an instant.” 

Ensign Bloomington and Saucy Sally now looked 
at one another, as if at a loss how to proceed: 
they retired to a window to consult; and while they 
were whispering, a coach drove up to the door. 
It was full of Mrs. Crumpe’s relations, whc came 
post-haste from Monmouth, in consequence of the 
alarm given by Mrs. Martha. Mr. Josiah Crumpe 
was not in the coach: he had been written for, but 
was not yet arrived from Liverpool. 

Now, it must be observed, this coachful of re¬ 
lations were all enemies to Ensign Bloomington; 

18 * 


210 


POPULAR TALES. 


and the moment they put their heads out of the 
carriage-window, and saw him standing in the 
parlour, their surprise and indignation were too 
great for coherent utterance. With all the rash¬ 
ness of prejudice, they decided that he had bribed 
Patty to let him in and to exclude them. Possessed 
with this idea, they hurried out of the coach, passed 
by poor Patty, who was standing in the hall, and 
beckoned to Mrs. Martha, who showed them into 
the drawing-room, and remained shut up with them 
there for some minutes. 44 She is playing us false,” 
cried Saucy Sally, rushing out of the parlour. “ I 
told you not to depend on that Martha; nor on no¬ 
body but me: I said I’d force a way for you up 
to the room, and so I have; and now you have not 
the spirit to take your advantage. They ’ll get in 
all of them before you; and then where will you 
be, and what will you be ?” 

Mrs. Crumpe’s bell rang violently, and Patty ran 
up stairs to her room. 

4 1 have been ringing for you, Patty, this quarter 
of an hour! What is all the disturbance I hear 
below ?” 

44 Your relations, ma’am, who wish to see vou: 
I hope you won’t refuse to see them, for they are 
very anxious.” 


THE CONTRAST. 


211 


“Very anxious to have me dead and buried. 
Not one of them cares a groat for me. I have 
made my will, tell them; and they will see that in 
time. I will not see one of them.” 

By this time they were all at the bedchamber- 
door, struggling which party should enter first. 
Saucy Sally’s loud voice was heard, maintaining 
her right to be there as wife-elect to Ensign Bloom¬ 
ington. 

“ Tell them the first who enters this room shall 
never see a shilling of my money,” cried Mrs. 
Crumpe. 

Patty opened the door; the disputants were in¬ 
stantly silent. “ Ee pleased, before you come in, 
to hearken to what my mistress says. Ma’am, 
will you say whatever you think proper yourself?” 
said Patty; “ for it is too hard for me to be sus¬ 
pected of putting words into your mouth, and keep¬ 
ing your friends from the sight of you.” 

“ The first of them who comes into this room,” 
cried Mrs. Crumpe, raising her feeble voice to the 
highest pitch she was able, “ the first who enters 
this room shall never see a shilling of my money; 
and so on to the next, and the next, and the next. 
I ’ll see none of you.” 

No one ventured to enter. Their infinite solici- 


212 


POPULAR TALES. 


tude to see how poor Mrs. Crumpe found herself to¬ 
day suddenly vanished. The two parties adjourned 
to the parlour and the drawing-room; and there was 
nothing in which they agreed, except in abusing 
Patty. They called for pen, ink, and paper, and 
each wrote what they wished to say. Their notes 
were carried up by Patty herself; for Mrs. Martha 
would not run the risk of losing her own legacy to 
oblige any of them, though she had been bribed by 
all. With much difficulty Mrs. Crumpe was pre¬ 
vailed upon to look at the notes; at last she ex¬ 
claimed, “ Let them all come up ; all! this moment 
tell them, all!” 

They were in the room instantly, all except 
Saucy Sally: Ensign Bloomington persuaded her 
it was for the best that she should not appear. 
Patty was retiring as soon as she had shown them 
in; but her mistress called to her, and bade her 
take a key, which she held in her hand, and un¬ 
lock an escritoir that was in the room. She did so. 

“ Give me that parcel which is tied up with red 
tape, and sealed with three seals,” said Mrs. 
Crumpe. 

All eyes were immediately fixed upon it, for it 
was her will. 

She broke the seals deliberately, untied the red 


THE CONTRAST. 


213 


string, opened the huge sheet of parchment, and 
without saying one syllable, tore it down the mid¬ 
dle; then tore the pieces again, and again, till 
they were so small that the writing could not he 
read. The spectators looked upon one another in 
dismay. 

“ Ay! you may all look as you please,” cried 
Mrs. Crumpe. “ I’m alive, and in my sound senses 
still: my money ’s my own; my property’s my 
own; I ’ll do what I please with it. You were all 
handsomely provided for in this will; but you could 
not wait for your legacies till I was under ground. 
No! you must come hovering over me, like so 
many ravens. It is not time yet! It is not time 
yet! The breath is not yet out of my body; and 
when it is, you shall none of you be the better for 
it, I promise you. My money’s my own; my 
property’s my own; I ’ll make a new will to¬ 
morrow. Good-by to you all. I’ve told you my 
mind.” 

Not the most abject humiliations, not the most 
artful caresses, not the most taunting reproaches, 
from any of the company, could extort another 
word from Mrs. Crumpe. Her disappointed and 
incensed relations were at last obliged to leave the 
house; though not without venting their rage upon 


214 


POPULAR TALES. 


Patty, whom they believed to be the secret cause 
of all that had happened. After they had left the 
house, she went up to a garret, where she thought 
no one would see her or hear her, sat down on an 
old bedstead, and burst into tears. She had been 
much shocked by the scenes that had just passed, 
and her heart wanted this relief. 

“ Oh,” thought she, “ it is plain enough that it is 
not riches which make people happy. Here is this 
poor lady, with heaps of money and fine clothes, 
without any one in this whole world to love or 
care for her; but all wishing her dead; worried by 
her own relations, and abused by them, almost in 
her hearing, upon her death-bed! Oh! my poor 
brother! how different it was with you !” 

Patty’s reflections were here interrupted by the 
entrance of Martha; who came and sat down on 
the bedstead beside her, and with a great deal of 
hypocritical kindness in her manner, began to talk 
of what had passed; blaming Mrs. Crumpe’s re¬ 
lations for being so hardhearted and inconsiderate 
as to force business upon her when she was in 
such a state. “ Indeed, they have no one to thank 
but themselves, for the new turn things have taken. 
I hear my mistress has torn her will to atoms, and 
is going to make a new one! To be sure, you, 


THE CONTRAST. 


215 


Mrs. Patty, will be handsomely provided lor in this, 
as is, I am sure, becoming; and I hope, if you 
have an opportunity, as for certain you will, you 
won’t forget to speak a good word for me!” 

Patty, who was disgusted by this interested and 
deceitful address, answered she had nothing to do 
with her mistress’s will; and that her mistress was 
the best judge of what should be done with her 
own money, which she did not covet. 

Mrs. Martha was not mistaken in her opinion 
that Patty would be handsomely remembered in 
this new will. Mrs. Crumpe the next morning 
said to Patty, as she was giving her some medicine, 
“ It is for your interest, child, that I should get 
through this day, at least; for if I live a few hours 
longer, you will be the richest single woman in 
Monmouthshire. I ’ll show them all that my mo¬ 
ney ’s my own ,* and that I can do what I please 
with my own. Go yourself to Monmouth, child, 
as soon as you have plaited my cap, and bring me 
the attorney your brother lives with, to draw my 
new wiil. Don’t say one word of your errand to 
any of my relations, I charge you, for your own 
sake as well as mine. The harpies would tear you 
to pieces ; but I ’ll show them that I can do what I 
please with my own. That’s the least satisfaction 


216 


POPULAR TALES. 


I can have for my money before I die. God knows, 
it has been plague enough to me all my life long! 
But now, before I die—” 

“ Oh ! ma’am,” interrupted Patty, “ there is no 
need to talk of your dying now; for I have not 
heard you speak so strong, or so clear, nor seem 
so much yourself this long time. You may live 
yet, and I hope you will, to see many a good day; 
and to make it up, if I may be so bold to say it, 
with all your relations: which, I am sure, would 
be a great ease to your heart; and I am sure they 
are very sorry to have offended you.” 

“ The girl’s a fool!” cried Mrs. Crumpe. “ Why, 
child, don’t you understand me yet ? I tell you as 
plain as I can speak, I mean to leave the whole 
fortune to you. Well! what makes you look so 
blank?” 

“ Because, ma’am, indeed I have no wish to 
stand in anybody’s way ; and would not for all the 
world do such an unjust thing as to take advantage 
of your being a little angry or so with your re¬ 
lations, to get the fortune for myself: for I can do, 
having done all my life, without fortune well 
enough; but I could not do without my own good 
opinion, and that of my father, and brothers, and 
sister; all which I should lose, if I was to be 


THE CONTRAST. 


217 


guilty of a mean thing. So, ma’am,” said Patty, 
“ I have made bold to speak the whole truth of my 
mind to you; and I hope you will not do me an 
injury by way of doing me a favour. I am sure I 
thank you with all my heart for your goodness to 
me.” 

Patty turned away as she finished speaking; for 
she was greatly moved. 

“ You are a strange girl!” said Mrs. Crumpe. 
“ I would not have believed this, if any one had 
sworn it to me. Go for the attorney, as I bid you, 
this minute; I will have my own way.” 

When Patty arrived at Mr. Barlow’s she asked 
immediately for her brother Frank, whom she 
wished to consult: but he was out, and she then 
desired to speak to Mr. Barlow himself. She was 
shown into his office, and she told him her business, 
without any circumlocution, with the plain lan¬ 
guage and ingenuous countenance of truth. 

“ Indeed, sir,” said she, “ I should be glad you 
would come directly to my mistress and speak to 
her yourself; for she will mind what you say, and 
I only hope she may do the just thing by her re¬ 
lations. I don’t want her fortune, nor any part of 
it, but a just recompense for my service. Know¬ 
ing this in my own heart, I forgive them for all 
19 


218 


POPULAR TALES. 


the ill-will they bear me: it being all founded in a 
mistaken notion.” 

There was a gentleman in Mr. Barlow’s office, 
who was sitting at a desk writing a letter, when 
Patty came in: she took him for one of the clerks. 
While she was speaking, he turned about several 
times, and looked at her very earnestly. At last 
he went to a clerk, who was folding up some 
parchments, and asked who she was. He then 
sat down again to his writing, without saying a 
single word. This gentleman was Mr. Josiah 
Crumpe, the Liverpool merchant, Mrs. Crumpe’s 
eldest nephew; who had come to Monmouth, in 
consequence of the account he had heard of his 
aunt’s situation. Mr. Barlow had lately amicably 
settled a suit between him and one of his relations 
at Monmouth; and Mr. Crumpe had just been 
signing the deed relative to this affair. He was 
struck with the disinterestedness of Patty’s con¬ 
duct ; but he kept silence that she might not find 
out who he was, and that he might have full op¬ 
portunity of doing her justice hereafter. He was 
not one of the ravens, as Mrs. Crumpe emphati¬ 
cally called those who were hovering over her, im¬ 
patient for her death : he had, by his own skill and 
industry, made himself, not only independent, but 


THE CONTRAST. 


219 


rich. After Patty was gone, he, with the true spirit 
of a British merchant, declared that he was as in¬ 
dependent in his sentiments as in his fortune; that 
he would not crouch or fawn to man or woman, 
peer or prince, in his majesty’s dominions; no, 
not even to his own aunt. He wished his old aunt 
Crumpe, he said, to live and enjoy all she had as 
long as she could; and, if she chose to leave it to 
him after her death, well and good; he should be 
much obliged to her: if she did not, why well and 
good; he should not be obliged to be obliged to 
her; and that, to his humour, would perhaps be 
better still. 

With these sentiments Mr. Josiah Crumpe found 
no difficulty in refraining from going to see, or, as 
he called it, from paying his court to his aunt. “ I 
have some choice West India sweetmeats here for 
the poor soul,” said he to Mr. Barlow: “ she- gave 
me sweetmeats when I was a schoolboy; which I 
don’t forget. I know she has a sweet tooth still in 
her head; for she wrote to me last year, to desire 
I would get her some; but I did not relish the style 
of her letter, and I never complied with the order; 
however, I was to blame: she is an infirm poor 
creature, and should be humoured now, let her be 
ever so cross. Take her the sweetmeats; but 


220 


POPULAR TALES. 


mind, do not let her have a taste or a sight of them 
till she has made her will. I do not want to bribe 
her to leave me her money-bags; I thank my God 
and myself, I want them not.” 

Mr. Barlow immediately went to Mrs. Crumpe’s. 
As she had land to dispose of, three witnesses 
were necessary to the will. Patty said she had 
two men-servants who could write; but to make 
sure of a third, Mr. Barlow desired that one of his 
clerks should accompany him. Frank was out; 
so the eldest clerk went in his stead. 

This clerk’s name was Mason : he was Frank’s 
chief friend, and a young man of excellent cha¬ 
racter. He had never seen Patty till this day; but 
he had often heard her brother speak of her with 
so much affection, that he was prepossessed in her 
favour, even before he saw her. The manner in 
which she spoke on the subject of Mrs. Crumpe’s 
fortune quite charmed him; for he was of an open 
and generous temper, and said to himself, “ I would 
rather have this girl for my wife, without sixpence 
in the world, than any woman I ever saw in my 
life—if I could but afford it—and if she was but a 
little prettier. As it is, however, there is no danger 
of my falling in love with her; so I may just in¬ 
dulge myself in the pleasure of talking to her: be- 


THE CONTRAST. 221 

sides, it is but civil to lead my horse and walk a 
part of the way with Frank*s sister.” 

Accordingly, Mason set off to walk a part of the 
way to Mrs. Crumpe’s with Patty; and they fell 
into conversation, in which they were both so ear¬ 
nestly engaged that they did not perceive how time 
passed. Instead, however, of part of the way, 
Mason walked the whole way: and he and Patty 
were both rather surprised, when they found them¬ 
selves within sight of Mrs. Crumpe’s house. 

“ What a fine healthy colour this walking has 
brought into her face,” thought Mason, as he stood 
looking at her, while they were waiting for some 
one to open the door. “ Though she has not a 
single beautiful feature, and though nobody could 
call her handsome, yet there is so much good¬ 
nature in her countenance, that, plain as she cer¬ 
tainly is, her looks are more pleasing to my fancy 
than those of many a beauty I have heard admired.” 

The door was now opened; and Mr. Barlow, 
who had arrived some time, summoned Mason to 
business. They went up to Mrs. Crumpe’s room 
to take her instructions for her new will. Patty 
showed them in. 

“Don’t go, child. I will not have you stir,” 
said Mrs. Crumpe. “ Now stand there at the foot 
19 * 


222 


POPULAR TALES. 


of my bed, and, without hypocrisy, tell me truly, 
child, your mind. This gentleman, who under¬ 
stands the law, can assure you that in spite of all 
the relations upon earth, I can leave my fortune to 
whom I please: so do not let fear of my relations 
prevent you from being happy.” 

“ No, madam,” interrupted Patty, “ it was not 
fear that made me say what I did to you this morn¬ 
ing ; and it is not fear that keeps me in the same 
mind still. I would not do what I thought was 
wrong myself if nobody else in the whole world 
was to know it. But, since you desire me to say 
what I really wish, I have a father, who is in great 
distress, and I should wish you would leave fifty 
pounds to him.” 

“With such principles and feelings,” cried Mr. 
Barlow, “ you are happier than ten thousand a year 
could make you!” 

Mason said nothing, but his looks said a great 
deal: and his master forgave him the innumerable 
blunders he made, in drawing Mrs. Crumpe’s will. 
“ Come, Mason, give me up the pen,” whispered 
he, at last; “ you are not your own man, I see; 
and I like you the better for being touched with 
good and generous conduct. But a truce with sen¬ 
timent, now; I must be a mere man of law. Go 


THE CONTRAST. 


223 


you and take a walk, to recover your legal 
senses.” 

The contents of Mrs. Crumpe’s new will were 
kept secret: Patty did not in the least know how 
she had disposed of her fortune; nor did Mason, 
for he had written only the preamble, when his 
master compassionately took the pen from his hand. 
Contrary to expectation, Mrs. Crumpe continued to 
linger on for some months; and, during this time, 
Patty attended her with the most patient care and 
humanity. Though long habits of selfishness had 
rendered this lady in general indifferent to the feel¬ 
ings of her servants and dependants, yet Patty was 
an exception: she often said to her, “ Child, it 
goes against my conscience to keep you prisoner 
here the best days of your life, in a sick room: go 
out and take a walk with your brothers and sister, 
I desire, whenever they call for you.” 

These walks with her brothers and sister were 
very refreshing to Patty; especially when Mason 
was of the party, as he almost always contrived to 
be. Every day he grew more and more attached 
to Patty; for every day he became more and more 
convinced of the goodness of her disposition and 
the sweetness of her temper. The affection which 
he saw her brothers and sister bore her spoke to 


224 


POPULAR TALES. 


his mind most strongly in her favour. “ They 
have known her from her childhood,” thought he, 
“ and cannot be deceived in her character. ’T is 
a good sign that those who know her best love her 
most; and her loving her pretty sister Fanny, as 
she does, is a proof that she is incapable of envy 
and jealousy.” 

In consequence of these reflections, Mason de¬ 
termined he would apply diligently to his business, 
that he might in due time be able to marry and 
support Patty. She ingenuously told him she had 
never seen the man she could love so well as him¬ 
self; but that her first object was to earn some 
money, to release her father from tlie almshouse, 
where she could not bear to see him living upon 
charity. “ When, among us all, we have accom¬ 
plished this,” said she, “ it will be time enough for 
me to think of marrying. Duty first, and love 
afterward.” 

Mason loved her the better, when he found her 
so steady in her gratitude to her father; for he was 
a man of sense, and knew that so good a daughter 
and sister would, in all probability, make a good 
wife. 

We must now give some acccouut of what 
Fanny has been doing all this time. Upon her re 


THE CONTRAST. 


225 


turn to Mrs. Hungerford’s after the death of her 
brother, she was received with the greatest kind¬ 
ness by her mistress, and by all the children, who 
were really fond of her, though she had never in¬ 
dulged them in any thing that was contrary to their 
mother’s wishes. 

Mrs. Hungerford had not forgotten the affair of 
the kettle-drum. One morning she said to her 
Tittle son, “ Gustavus, your curiosity about the 
kettle-drum and the clarionet shall be satisfied : 
your cousin Philip will come here in a few days, 
and he is well acquainted with the colonel of the 
regiment which is quartered in Monmouth: he 
shall ask the colonel to let us have the band here, 
some day. We may have them at the farthest end 
of the garden; and you and your brothers and sis¬ 
ters shall dine in the arbour, with Fanny, who 
upon this occasion particularly deserves to have a 
share in your amusement.” 

The cousin Philip of whom Mrs. Hungerford 
spoke was no other than Frankland’s landlord, 
young Mr. Folingsby. Besides liking fine horses 
and fine curricles, this gentleman was a great ad¬ 
mirer of fine women. 

He was struck with Fanny’s beauty the first day 
he came to Mrs. Hungerford’s: every succeeding 


226 


POPULAR TALES. 


day he thought her handsomer and handsomer; 
and every day grew fonder and fonder of playing 
with his little cousins. Upon some pretence or 
other, he contrived to be constantly in the room 
with them when Fanny was there; the modest 
propriety of her manners, however, kept him at 
that distance at which it was no easy matter for a 
pretty girl, in her situation, to keep such a gallant 
gentleman. His intention, when he came to Mrs. 
Hungerford’s, was to stay but a week; but when 
that week was at an end, he determined to stay 
another: he found his aunt Hungerford’s house 
uncommonly agreeable. The moment she men¬ 
tioned to him her wish of having the band of 
music in the garden, he was charmed with the 
scheme, and longed to dine out in the arbour with 
the children; but he dared not press this point, 
lest he should excite suspicion. 

Among other company who dined this day with 
Mrs. Hungerford was a Mrs. Cheviott, a blind 
lady, who took the liberty, as she said, to bring 
with her a young person, who was just come to 
live with her as a companion. This young per¬ 
son was Jessy Bettes worth, or, as she is hence¬ 
forward to be called, Miss Jessy Bettesworth. 
Since her father had “ come in for Captain Bettes- 


THE CONTRAST. 


227 


worth’s fortin,” her mother had spared no pains to 
push Jessy forward in the world; having no doubt 
that “ her beauty, when well dressed, would charm 
some great gentleman; or, maybe, some great 
lord!” Accordingly, Jessy was dizened out in all 
sorts of finery: her thoughts were wholly bent on 
fashions and flirting; and her mother’s vanity, 
joined to her own, nearly turned her brain. 

Just as this fermentation of folly was gaining 
force, she happened to meet with Ensign Bloom¬ 
ington at a ball at Monmouth: he fell, or she 
thought he fell, desperately in love with her; she, 
of course, coquetted with him: indeed, she gave 
him so much encouragement, that everybody con¬ 
cluded they were to be married. She and her 
sister Sally were continually seen walking arm- 
in-arm with him in the streets of Monmouth; 
and morning, noon, and night, she wore the drop- 
earrings of which he had made her a present. It 
chanced, however, that Jilting Jessy heard an of¬ 
ficer, in her ensign’s regiment, swear she was 
pretty enough to be the captain’s lady instead of 
the ensign’s; and, from that moment, she thought 
no more of the ensign. 

He was enraged to find himself jilted thus by a 
country girl, and determined to have his revenge: 


228 


POPULAR TALES. 


consequently he immediately transferred all his at¬ 
tentions to her sister Sally ; judiciously calculating 
that, from the envy and jealousy he had seen be¬ 
tween the sisters, this would be the most effectual 
mode of mortifying his perfidious fair. Jilting 
Jessy said her sister was welcome to her cast-off 
sweethearts: and Saucy Sally replied, her sister 
was welcome to be her bridemaid; since, with all 
her beauty and all her airs, she was not likely to 
be a bride. 

Mrs. Bettesworth had always confessed that Jessy 
was her favourite: like a wise and kind mother, 
she took part in all these disputes; and set these 
amiable sisters yet more at variance, by prophesy¬ 
ing that “her Jessy would make the grandest 
match.” 

To put her into fortune’s way, Mrs. Bettesworth 
determined to get her into some genteel family, as 
companion to a lady. Mrs. Cheviott’s housekeeper 
was nearly related to the Bettesworths, and to her 
Mrs. Bettesworth applied. “ But I’m afraid Jessy 
is something too much of a flirt,” said the house¬ 
keeper, “ for my mistress; who is a very strict, 
staid lady. You know, or at least we in Mon¬ 
mouth know, that Jessy was greatly talked of about 
a young officer here in town. I used myself to see 





































































































































































THE CONTRAST. 229 

her go trailing about, with her muslin and pink, 
and fine coloured shoes, in the dirt.” 

“ Oh! that’s all over now,” said Mrs. Bettes- 
worth : “ the man was quite beneath her notice— 
that’s all over now: he will do well enough for 
Sally; but, ma’am, my daughter Jessy has quite 
laid herself out for goodness now, and only wants 
to get into some house where she may learn to be 
a little genteel.” 

The housekeeper, though she had not the highest 
possible opinion of the young lady, was in hopes 
that, since Jessy had now laid herself out for good¬ 
ness, she might yet turn out well ,* and, considering 
that she was her relation, she thought it her duty 
to speak in favour of Miss Bettes worth. In con¬ 
sequence of her recommendation, Mrs. Cheviott 
took Jessy into her family; and Jessy was par¬ 
ticularly glad to be the companion of a blind lady. 

She discovered, the first day she spent with Mrs. 
Cheviott, that, besides the misfortune of being blind, 
she had the still greater misfortune of being inor¬ 
dinately fond of flattery. Jessy took advantage 
of this foible, and imposed so far on the under¬ 
standing of her patroness, that she persuaded Mrs. 
Cheviott into a high opinion of her judgment and 
prudence. 

20 


230 


POPULAR TALES. 


Things were in this situation when Jessy, for the 
first time, accompanied the blind lady to Mrs. 
Hungerford’s. Without having the appearance or 
manners of a gentlewoman, Miss Jessy Bettes- 
worth was, notwithstanding, such a pretty, showy 
girl that she generally contrived to attract notice. 
She caught Mr. Folingsby’s eye at dinner, as she 
was playing off her best airs at the side-table; and 
it was with infinite satisfaction that she heard him 
ask one of the officers, as they were going out to 
walk in the garden, “ Who is that girl ? She has 
fine eyes, and a most beautiful long neck !” Upon 
the strength of this whisper, Jessy flattered herself 
she had made a conquest of Mr. Folingsby; by 
which idea she was so much intoxicated, that she 
could scarcely restrain her vanity within decent 
bounds. 

“ Lord ! Fanny Frankland, is it you ? Who ex¬ 
pected to meet you sitting here ?” said she, when, 
to her great surprise, she saw Fanny in the arbour 
with the children. To her yet greater surprise, she 
soon perceived that Mr. Folingsby’s attention was 
entirely fixed upon Fanny; and that he became so 
absent he did not know he was walking upon the 
flower-borders. 

Jessy could scarcely believe her senses when she 


THE CONTRAST. 


231 


saw that, her rival, for as such she now considered 
her, gave her lover no encouragement. “ Is it pos¬ 
sible that the girl is such a fool as not to see that 
this here gentleman is in love with her? No; that 
is out of the nature of things. Oh ! it’s all arti¬ 
fice ; and I will find out her drift, I warrant, before 
long!” 

Having formed this laudable resolution, she took 
her measures welt for carrying it into effect. Mrs. 
Cheviott, being blind, had few amusements: she 
was extremely fond of music, and one of Mrs. 
Hungerfbrd’s daughters played remarkably well on 
the piano-forte. This evening, as Mrs. Cheviott 
was listening to the young lady’s singing, Jessy 
exclaimed, “ Oh ! ma’am, how happy it would make 
you, to hear such singing and music every day.” 

“ If she would come every day, when my sister 
is practising with the music-master, she might hear 
snough of it,” said little Gustavus. “I’ll run and 
desire mamma to ask her; because,” added he, in 
a low voice, “ if I was blind, maybe I should like it 
myself.’’ 

Mrs. Hungerford, who was good-natured as well 
as polite, pressed Mrs. Cheviott to come whenever 
it should be agreeable to her. The poor blind lady 
was delighted with the invitation, and went regu- 


232 


POPULAR TALES. 


larly every morning to Mrs. Hungerford’s at the 
time the music-master attended. Jessy Bettesworth 
always accompanied her, for she could not go any¬ 
where without a guide. 

Jessy had now ample opportunities of gratifying 
her malicious curiosity; she saw, or thought she 
saw', that Mr. Folingsby was displeased by the re¬ 
serve of Fanny’s manners; and she renewed all 
her own coquettish efforts to engage his attention. 
He amused himself sometimes with her, in hopes 
of rousing Fanny’s jealousy; but he found that this 
expedient, though an infallible one in ordinary cases, 
was here totally unavailing. His passion for Fanny 
was increased so much by her unaffected modesty, 
and by the daily proofs he saw of the sweetness of 
her disposition, that he was no longer master of 
himself: he plainly told her that he could not .ive 
without her. 

“ That’s a pity, sir,” said Fanny, laughing, and 
trying to turn off what he said, as if it were only a 
jest. “ It is a great pity, sir, that you cannot live 
without me; for you know I cannot serve my mis¬ 
tress, do my duty, and live with you.” 

Mr. Folingsby endeavoured to convince, or ra¬ 
ther to persuade her that she was mistaken; and 


THE CONTRAST. 


233 


swore that nothing within the power of his fortune 
should be wanting to make her happy. 

“ Ah ! sir,” said she, “ your fortune could not 
make me happy, if I were to do what I know is 
wrong, what would disgrace me for ever, and what 
would break my poor father’s heart!” 

“ But your father shall never know any thing of 
the matter. I will keep your secret from the whole 
world : trust to my honour ” 

“ Honour ! Oh ! sir, how can you talk to me 
of honour? Do you think I do not know what 
honour is, because I am poor ? Or do you think I 
do not set any value on mine, though you do on 
yours ? Would not you kill any man, if you could, 
in a duel, for doubting of your honour ? And yet 
you expect me to love you, at the very moment you 
show me, most plainly, how desirous you are to rob 
me of mine!” 

Mr. Folingsby was silent for some moments; 
but when he saw that Fanny was leaving him, he 
hastily stopped her, and said, laughing, “ You have 
made me a most charming speech about honour; 
and, what is better still, you looked most charm¬ 
ingly when you spoke it; but nbw take time to 
consider what I have said to you. Let me have 
20 * 




234 


POPULAR TALES. 


your answer to-morrow; and consult this book be¬ 
fore you answer me, I conjure you.” 

Fanny took up the book as soon as Mr. Folingsby 
had left the room; and, without opening it, deter¬ 
mined to return it immediately. She instantly wrote 
a letter to Mr. Folingsby, which she was just wrap¬ 
ping up with the book in a sheet of paper, when 
Miss Jessy Bettes worth, the blind lady, and the 
music-master came into the room. Fanny went to 
set a chair for the blind lady ; and while she was 
doing so, Miss Jessy Bettesworth, who had ob¬ 
served that Fanny blushed when they came in, 
slyly peeped into the book, which lay on the table. 
Between the first pages she opened there was a 
five-pound bank-note; she turned the leaf, and 
found another, and another, and another at every 
leaf! Of these notes she counted one-and-twenty! 
while Fanny, unsuspicious of what was doing be¬ 
hind her back, was looking for the children’s 
music-books. 

“ Philip Folingsby! So, so! Did he give you 
this book, Fanny Frankland!” said Jessy, in a 
scornful tone: “ it seems truly to be a very valu¬ 
able performance; and, no doubt, he had good 
reasons for giving it to you.” 

Fanny coloured deeply at this unexpected 


THE CONTRAST. 


235 


speech; and hesitated, from the fear of betraying 
Mr. Folingsby. “ He did not give me the book : 
he only lent it to me,” said she, “ and I am going 
to return it to him directly.” 

“Oh! no; pray lend it to me first,” replied 
Jessy in an ironical tone; “ Mr. Folingsby, to be 
sure, would lend it to me as soon as to you. I’m 
growing as fond of reading as other folks, lately,” 
continued she, holding the book fast. 

“ I dare say, Mr. Folingsby would—Mr. Fo¬ 
lingsby would lend it to you, I suppose,” said 
Fanny, colouring more and more deeply; “ but, 
as it is trusted to me now, I must return it safe. 
Pray let me have it, Jessy.” 

“ Oh! yes; return it, madam, safe ! I make no 
manner of doubt you will! I make no manner of 
doubt you will!” replied Jessy, several times, as 
she shook the book; while the bank-notes fell from 
between the leaves, and were scattered upon the 
floor. “ It is a thousand pities, Mrs. Cheviott, you 
can’t see what a fine book we have got, full of bank¬ 
notes ! But Mrs. Hungerford is not blind, at any 
rate, it is to be hoped,” continued she, turning to 
Mrs. Hungerford, who at this instant opened the 
door. 

She stood in dignified amazement. Jessy had an 


236 


POPULAR TALES. 


air of malignant triumph. Fanny was covered 
with blushes ,* but she looked with all the tranquil¬ 
lity of innocence. The children gathered round 
hef; and blind Mrs. Cheviott cried, “ What is 
going on? What is going on? Will nobody tell 
me what is going on ? Jessy! What is it you are 
talking about, Jessy?” 

“ About a very valuable book, ma’am ; contain¬ 
ing more than I can easily count, in bank-notes, 
ma’am, that Mr. Folingsby has lent, only lent, 
ma’am, she says, to Miss Fanny Frankland, ma’am, 
who was just going to return them to him, ma'am, 
when I unluckily took up the book, and shook them 
all out upon the floor, ma’am.” 

“ Pick them up, Gustavus, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Hungerford, coolly. “ From what I know of Fanny 
Frankland, I am inclined to believe that whatever 
she says is truth. Since she has lived with me, I 
have never, in the slightest instance, found her de¬ 
viate from the truth; therefore I must entirely de¬ 
pend upon what she says.” 

“ O! yes, mamma,” cried the children, all to¬ 
gether, “ that I am sure you may.” 

“ Come with me, Fanny,” resumed Mrs. Hun¬ 
gerford ; “ it is not necessary that your explanation 


THE CONTRAST. 237 

should be public, though I am persuaded it will be 
satisfactory.” 

Fanny was glad to escape from the envious eye 
of Miss Jessy Bcttesworth, and felt much gratitude 
to Mrs. Hungerford for this kindness and confi¬ 
dence ; but when she was to make her explanation, 
Fanny was in great confusion. She dreaded to oc¬ 
casion a quarrel between Mr. Folingsby and his 
aunt; yet she knew not how to exculpate herself, 
without accusing him. 

“ Why these blushes and tears, and why this si¬ 
lence, Fanny?” said Mrs. Hungerford, after she 
had waited some minutes, in expectation she would 
begin to speak. “Are not you sure of justice from 
me; and of protection, both from slander and in¬ 
sult ? I am fond of my nephew, it is true; but I 
think myself obliged to you, for the manner in 
which you have conducted yourself towards my 
children, since you have had them under your care. 
Tell me then, freely, if you have any reason to 
complain of young Mr. Folingsby.” 

“ Oh! madam,” said Fanny, “ thank you a thou¬ 
sand times for your goodness to me. I do not, in¬ 
deed I do not wish to complain of anybody ; and I 
would not for the world make mischief between 
you and your nephew. I would rather leave your 


238 


POPULAR TALES. 


family at once; and that,” continued the poor girl, 
sobbing, “ that is what I believe I had best; nay, 
is what I must and will do.” 

“ No, Fanny, do not leave my house without 
giving me an explanation of what has passed this 
morning; for, if you do, your reputation is at the 
mercy of Miss Jessy Bettesworth’s malice.” 

“ Heaven forbid!” said Fanny, with a look of 
real terror. “ I must beg, madam, that you will 
have the kindness to return this book, and these 
bank-notes, to Mr. Folingsby; and that you will 
give him this letter, which I was just going to wrap 
up in the paper, with the book, when Jessy Bettes- 
worth came in and found the bank-notes, v/hich I 
had never seen. These can make no difference in 
my answer to Mr. Folingsby : therefore I shall 
leave my letter just as it was first written, if you 
please, madam.” 

Fanny’s letter was as follows: 

« Sir, 

“ I return the book which you left with me, as 
nothing it contains can ever alter my opinion on 
the subject of which you spoke to me this morning. 
I hope you will never speak to me again, sir, in the 
same manner. Consider, sir, that I am a poor un- 


THE CONTRAST. 


239 


protected girl. If you go on as you have done 
lately, I shall be obliged to leave good Mrs. Hun- 
gerford, who is my only friend. Oh ! where shall 
I find so good a friend! My poor old father is in 
the almshouse! and there he must remain till his 
children can earn money sufficient to support him. 
Do not fancy, sir, that I say this by way of beg¬ 
ging from you; I would not, nor would he, accept 
of any thing that you could offer him, while in 
your present way of thinking. Pray, sir, have 
some compassion, and do not injure those whom 
you cannot serve. 

“ I am, sir, 

“ Your humble servant, 

“ Fanny Frankland.” 

Mr. Folingsby was surprised and confounded 
when this letter and the book containing his bank¬ 
notes were put into his hand by his aunt. Mrs. 
Hungerford told him by what means the book had 
been seen by Miss Jessy Bettesworth, and to what 
imputations it must have exposed Fanny. “ Fanny 
is afraid of making mischief between you and me,” 
continued Mrs. Hungerford; “ and I cannot prevail 
upon her to give me an explanation, which, I am 
persuaded, would be much to her honour.” 


240 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ Then you have not seen this letter! Then she 
has decided without consulting you ! She is a 
charming girl!” cried Mr. Folingsby; “ and what¬ 
ever you may think of me, I am bound, in justice 
to her, to show you what she has written : that will 
sufficiently explain how much I have been to blame, 
and how well she deserves the confidence you 
place in her.” 

As he spoke, Mr. Folingsby rang the bell to 
order his horses. “ I will return to town immedi¬ 
ately,” continued he; “ so Fanny need not leave 
the house of her only friend to avoid me. As to 
these bank-notes, keep them, dear aunt. She says 
her father is in great distress. Perhaps, now that 
I am come ‘ to a right way of thinking,’ she will 
not disdain my assistance. Give her the money 
when and how you think proper. I am sure I can¬ 
not make a better use of a hundred guineas; and 
wish I had never thought of making a worse.” 

Mr. Folingsby returned directly to town; and 
his aunt thought he had in some measure atoned 
for his fault by his candour and generosity. 

Miss Jessy Bettesworth waited all this time, with 
malicious impatience, to hear the result of Fanny’s 
explanation with Mrs. Hungerford. How painfully 
was she surprised and disappointed, when Mrs. 


TIIE CONTRAST. 


241 


Hungerford returned to the company, to hear her 
speak in the highest terms of Fanny ! “Oh, mam¬ 
ma,” cried little Gustavus, clapping his hands, “ I 
am glad you think her good, because we all think 
so; and I should be very sorry indeed if she was 
to go away, especially in disgrace.” 

“ There is no danger of that, my dear!” said 
Mrs. Hungerford. “ She shall never leave /ny 
house, as long as she desires to stay in it. I do 
not give, or withdraw, my protection without good 
reasons.” 

Miss Jessy Bettesworth bit her lips. Her face, 
which nature intended to be beautiful, became 
almost ugly; envy and malice distorted her fea¬ 
tures ; and when she departed with Mrs. Cheviott, 
her humiliated appearance was a strong contrast 
to the air of triumph with which she had entered. 


CHAPTER V. 

After Jessy and Mrs. Cheviott had left the 
room, one of the little girls exclaimed, “ I don’t 
like that Miss Bettesworth; for she asked me whe¬ 
ther I did not wish that Fanny was gone, because 
she refused to let me have a peach that was not 
21 



242 


POPULAR TALES. 


ripe. I am sure I wish Fanny may always stay 
here.” 

There was a person in the room who seemed to 
join most fervently in this wish : this was Mr. Rey¬ 
nolds, the drawing-master. For some time his 
thoughts had been greatly occupied by Fanny. At 
first, he was struck with her beauty; but he had 
discovered that Mr. Folingsby was in love with her, 
and had carefully attended to her conduct; re¬ 
solving not to offer himself till he was sure on a 
point so serious. Her modesty and prudence fixed 
his affections ; and he now became impatient to de¬ 
clare his passion. He was a man of excellent tem¬ 
per and character; and his activity and talents 
were such as to ensure independence to a wife and 
family. 

Mrs. Hungerford, though a proud, was not a 
selfish woman: she was glad that Mr. Reynolds 
was desirous to obtain Fanny; though she was 
sorry to part with one who was so useful in her 
family. Fanny had now lived with her nearly two 
years; and she was much attached to her. A dis¬ 
tant relation, about this time, left her five children 
a small legacy of ten guineas each. Gustavus, 
though he had some ambition to be master of a 
watch, was the first to propose that this legacy 



THE CONTRAST. 


243 


should be given to Fanny. His brothers and sis- 
ers applauded the idea; and Mrs. Hungerford 
added fifty guineas to their fifty. “ I had put by 
this money,” said she, “ to purchase a looking- 
glass for my drawing-room; but it will be much 
better applied in rewarding one who has been of 
real service to my children.” 

Fanny was now mistress of two hundred gui¬ 
neas,—a hundred given to her by Mr. Folingsby, 
fifty by Mrs. Hungerford, and fifty by the children. 
Her joy and gratitude were extreme; for with this 
money she knew she could relieve her father; this 
was the first wish of her heart; and it was a wish 
in which her lover so eagerly joined that she 
smiled on him, and said, “ Now, I am sure you 
really love me.” 

“ Let us go ‘to your father directly,” said Mr. 
Reynolds. “ Let me be present when you give 
him this money.” 

“ You shall,” said Fanny; “ but first I must 
consult my sister Patty and my brothers; for we 
must all go together; that is our agreement. The 
first day of next month is my father’s birthday; 
and on that day we are all to meet at the alms¬ 
house. What a happy day it will be!” 

But what has James been about all this time ? 


244 


POPULAR TALES. 


How has he gone on with his master, Mr. Cleg- 
horn, the haberdasher? 

During the eighteen months that James had 
spent in Mr. Cleghorn’s shop, he never gave his 
master the slightest reason to complain of him, 
on the contrary, this young man made his em¬ 
ployer’s interests his own, and, consequently, com¬ 
pletely deserved his confidence. It was not, how¬ 
ever, always easy to deal with Mr. Cleghorn; for 
he dreaded to be flattered, yet could not bear to be 
contradicted. James was very near losing his fa¬ 
vour for ever, upon the following occasion. 

One evening, when it was nearly dusk, and 
James was just shutting up shop, a strange-looking 
man, prodigiously corpulent, and with huge pockets 
to his coat, came in. He leaned his elbows on the 
counter, opposite to James, and stared him full in 
the face without speaking. James swept some loose 
money off the counter into the till. The stranger 
smiled, as if purposely to show him this did not es¬ 
cape his quick eye. There was in his countenance 
an expression of roguery and humour: the hu¬ 
mour seemed to be affected, the roguery natural. 
“ What are you pleased to want, sir ?” said James. 

“ A glass of brandy, and your master.” 

“ My master is not at home, sir; and we have 


THE CONTRAST. 245 

no brandy. You will find brandy, I believe, at 
the house over the way.” 

“ I believe I know where to find brandy a little 
better than you do; and better brandy than you 
ever tasted, or the devil’s in it,” replied the stran¬ 
ger. “ I want none of your brandy. I only 
asked for it to try what sort of a chap you were. 
So you don’t know who I am ?” 

“ No, sir; not in the least.” 

“No! Never heard of Admiral Tipsey! Where 
do you come from? Never heard of Admiral 
Tipsey! whose noble paunch is worth more than 
a Laplander could reckon,” cried he, striking the 
huge rotundity he praised. “ Let me into this 
back parlour, I’ll wait there till your master 
comes home.” 

“ Sir, you cannot possibly go into that parlour, 
there is a young lady, Mr. Cleghorn’s daughter, 
sir, at tea in that room: she must not be disturbed,” 
said James, holding the lock of the parlour door. 
He thought the stranger was either drunk or pre¬ 
tending to be drunk: and contended, with all his 
force, to prevent him from getting into the parlour. 

While they were struggling, Mr. Cleghorn came 
home. “ Heyday! what’s the matter ? O, ad¬ 
miral, is it you ?” said Mr. Cleghorn, in a voice of 
21 * 


246 


POPULAR TALES. 


familiarity that astonished James. “ Let us by 
James; you don’t know the admiral.” 

Admiral Tipsey was a smuggler: he had the 
command of two or three smuggling vessels, and 
thereupon created himself an admiral; a dignity 
which few dared to dispute with him, while he held 
his oak stick in his hand. As to the name of 
Tipsey, no one could be so unjust as to question 
his claim to it; for he was never known to be per¬ 
fectly sober, during a whole day, from one year’s 
end to another. To James’s great surprise, the 
admiral, after he had drunk one dish of tea, un¬ 
buttoned his waistcoat from top to bottom, and 
deliberately began to unpack his huge false corpu¬ 
lence ! Round him were wound innumerable 
pieces of lace, and fold after fold of fine cambric. 
When he was completely unpacked, it was dif¬ 
ficult to believe that he was the same person, he 
looked so thin and shrunk. 

He then called for some clean straw, and began 
to stuff himself out again to what he called a pass¬ 
able size. “ Did not I tell you, young man, I car¬ 
ried that under my waistcoat which would make a 
fool stare? The lace that’son the floor, to say 
nothing of the cambric, is worth full twice the sum 
for which you shall have it, Cleghorn. Good night. 


THE CONTRAST. 


247 


I ’ll call again to-morrow, to settle our affairs; but 
don’t let your young man here shut the door, as he 
did to-day, in the admiral’s face. Here is a cravat 
for you, notwithstanding,” continued he, turning to 
James, and throwing him a piece of very fine 
cambric. u I must ’list you in Admiral Tipsey’s 
service.” 

James followed him to the door, and returned 
the cambric in despite of all his entreaties that he 
would “ wear it, or sell it, for the admiral’s sake.” 

“So, James,” said Mr. Cleghorn, when the 
smuggler was gone, “ you do not seem to like our 
admiral.” 

u I know nothing of him, sir, except that he is a 
smuggler; and for that reason I do not wish to 
have' any thing to do with him.” 

“ I am sorry for that,” said Mr. Cleghorn, with 
a mixture of shame and anger in his countenance: 
“ my conscience is as nice as other people’s; and 
yet I have a notion I shall have something to 
do with him, though he is a smuggler; and, if I 
am not mistaken, shall make a deal of money by 
him. I have not had any thing to do with smug¬ 
glers yet; but I see many in Monmouth who are 
making large fortunes by their assistance. There 
is our neighbour, Mr. Raikes; what a rich man he 


248 


POPULAR TALES. 


is become! And why should I, or why should 
you, be more scrupulous than others? Many gen¬ 
tlemen, ay, gentlemen, in the country are con¬ 
nected with them; and why should a shopkeeper 
be more conscientious than they ? Speak; I must 
have your opinion.” 

With all the respect due to his master, James 
gave it as his opinion that it would be best to have 
nothing to do with Admiral Tipsey, or with any 
of the smugglers. He observed that men who car¬ 
ried on an illicit trade, and who were in the 
daily habits of cheating, or of taking false oaths, 
could not be safe partners. Even putting morality 
out of the question, he remarked that the smuggling 
trade was a sort of gaming, by which one year a 
man might make a deal of money, and another 
might be ruined. 

“ Upon my word!” said Mr. Cleghorn, in an 
ironical tone, “ you talk very wisely, for so young 
a man ! Pray, where did you learn all this wis¬ 
dom?” 

“From my father, sir; from whom I learned 
every thing that I know; every thing that is good, 
I mean. I had an uncle once, who was ruined by 
his dealings with smugglers; and who would have 
died in jail, if it had not been for my father. I 


THE CONTRAST. 


249 


was but a young lad at the time this happened; 
but I remember my father saying to me, the day 
my uncle was arrested, when my aunt and all the 
children were crying, ‘ Take warning by this, my 
dear James: you are to be in trade, some day or 
other, yourself: never forget that honesty is the 
best policy. The fair trader will always have the 
advantage, at the long run.’ ” 

“ Well, well, no more of this,” interrupted Mr. 
Cleghorn. “ Good night to you. You may finish 
the rest of your sermon against smugglers to my 
daughter there, whom it seems to suit better than 
it pleases me.” 

The next day, when Mr. Cleghorn went into the 
shop, he scarcely spoke to James, except to find 
fault with him. This he bore with patience, know¬ 
ing that he meant well, and that his master would 
recover his temper in time. 

“ So the parcels were all sent, and the bills made 
out, as I desired,” said Mr. Cleghorn. “You are 
not in the wrong there. You know what you are 
about, James, very well ; but why should not you 
deal openly by me, according to your father’s 
maxim, that * Honesty is the best policy V Why 
should not you fairly tell me what were your secret 


250 


POPULAR TALES. 


views in the advice you gave me about Admiral 
Tipsey and the smugglers ?” 

“ I have no secret views, sir,” said James, with 
a look of such sincerity that his master could not 
help believing him: “ nor can I guess what you 
mean by secret vieivs. If I consulted my own ad¬ 
vantage instead of yours, I should certainly use all 
my influence with you in favour of this smuggler: 
for here is a letter, which I received from him this 
morning, £ hoping for my friendship,’ and enclosing 
a ten-pound note, which I returned to him.” 

Mr. Cleghorn was pleased by the openness .and 
simplicity with which James told him all this; and 
immediately throwing aside the reserve of his man¬ 
ner, said, “ James, I beg your pardon; I see I have 
misunderstood you. I am convinced you were not 
acting like a double dealer, in the advice you gave 
me last night. It was my daughter’s colouring so 
much that led me astray. I did, to be sure, think 
you had an eye to her more than to me, in what 
you said; but if you had, I am sure you would tell 
me so fairly.” 

James was at a loss to comprehend how the ad¬ 
vice that he gave concerning Admiral Tipsey and 
the smugglers could relate to Miss Cleghorn, ex- 


THE CONTRAST. 251 

cept so far as it related to her father. He waited 
in silence for a further explanation. 

“ You don’t know, then,” continued Mr. Cleg- 
horn, “ that Admiral Tipsey, as he calls himself, is 
able to leave his nephew, young Raikes, more than 
I can leave my daughter 1 It is his whim to go 
about dressed in that strange way in which you 
saw him yesterday ,* and it is his diversion to carry 
on the smuggling trade, by which he has made so 
much ,• but he is in reality a rich old fellow, and 
has proposed that I should marry my daughter to 
his nephew. Now you begin to understand me, I 
see. The lad is a smart lad; he is to come here 
this evening. Don’t prejudice my girl against him. 
Not a word more against smugglers, before her, I 
beg.” 

“ You shall be obeyed, sir,” said James. His 
voice altered, and he turned pale as he spoke; cir¬ 
cumstances which did not escape Mr. Cleghorn’s 
observation. 

Young Raikes and his uncle, the rich smuggler, 
paid their visit. Miss Cleghorn expressed a de¬ 
cided dislike to both uncle and nephew. Her 
father was extremely provoked: and in the height 
of his anger, declared he believed she was in love 
with James Frankland; that he was a treacherous 


252 


POPULAR TALES. 


rascal; and that he should leave the house within 
three days, if his daughter did not, before that 
time, consent to marry the man he had chosen for 
her husband. It was in vain that his daughter en¬ 
deavoured to soften her father’s rage, and to excul¬ 
pate poor James, by protesting he had never, directly 
or indirectly, attempted to engage her affections; 
neither had he ever said one syllable that could 
prejudice her against the man whom her father 
recommended. Mr. Cleghorn’s high notions of 
subordination applied, on this occasion, equally to 
his daughter and to his foreman: he considered 
them both as presumptuous and ungrateful; and 
said to himself, as he walked up and down the 
room in a rage, “ My foreman to preach to me, 
indeed! I thought what he was about all the time ! 
But it sha’n’t do—it sha’n’t do! My daughter 
shall do as I bid her, or I ’ll know why! Have 
not I been all my life making a fortune for her ? 
and now she won’t do as I bid her! She would, 
if this fellow was out of the house; and out he 
shall go, in three days, if she does not come to her 
senses. I was cheated by my last shopman out 
of my money; I won’t be duped by this fellow 
out of my daughter. No! no! Off he shall 
trudge! A shopman, indeed, to think of his mas- 


THE CONTRAST. 


253 


ter’s daughter without his consent! What in¬ 
solence! What the times are come to! Such 
a thing could not have been done in my days! 
I never thought of my master’s daughter, I’ll 
take my oath! And then the treachery of the 
rascal! To carry it all on so slyly ! I could forgive 
him any thing but that: for that he shall go out of 
this house in three days, as sure as he and I are 
alive, if his young lady does not give him up be¬ 
fore that time.” 

Passion so completely deafened Mr. Cleghorn 
that he would not listen to James, who assured him 
he had never, for a moment, aspired to the honour 
of marrying his daughter. “ Can you deny that 
you love her ? Can you deny,” cried Mr. Cleg- 
horn, “ that you turned pale yesterday, when you 
said I should be obeyed ?” 

James could not deny either of these charges; 
but he firmly persisted in asserting that he had 
been guilty of no treachery; that he had never 
attempted secretly to engage the young lady’s 
affections; and that, on the contrary, he was sure 
she had no suspicion of his attachment. “ It is 
easy to prove all this to me by persuading my girl 
to do as I bid her. Prevail on her to marry Mr. 
Raikes, and all is well.” 

22 


254 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ That is out of my power, sir,” replied James. 
“ I have no right to interfere, and will not. In¬ 
deed, I am sure I should betray myself, if I were 
to attempt to say a word to Miss Cleghorn in favour 
of another man; that is a task I could not under¬ 
take, even if I had the highest opinion of this Mr. 
Raikes ; but I know nothing concerning him ; and 
therefore should do wrong to speak in his favour 
merely to please you. I am sorry, very sorry, sir, 
that you have not the confidence in me which I 
hoped I had deserved; but the time will come when 
you will do me justice. The sooner I leave you 
now, I believe the better you will be satisfied; and 
far from wishing to stay three days, I do not de¬ 
sire to stay three minutes in your house, sir, against 
your will.” 

Mr. Cleghorn was touched by the feeling and 
honest pride with which James spoke. 

“ Do as I bid you, sir,” said he; “ and neither 
more nor less. Stay out your three days; and 
maybe, in that time, this saucy girl may come to 
reason. If she does not know you love her, you 
are not so much to blame.” 

The three days passed away, and the morning 
came on which James was to leave his master. 
The young lady persisted in her resolution not to 


THE CONTRAST. 


255 


marry Mr. Raikes; and expressed much concern 
at the injustice with which James was treated, on 
her account. She offered to leave home, and spend 
some time with an aunt, who lived in the north of 
England. She did not deny that James appeared 
to her the most agreeable young man she had seen ; 
but added, she could not possibly have any thoughts 
of marrying him, because he had never given her 
the least reason to believe that he was attached to 
her. 

Mr. Cleghorn was agitated; yet positive in his 
determination that James should quit the house. 
James went into his master’s room, to take leave 
of him. “ So then you are really going ?” said 
Mr. Cleghorn. “ You have buckled that port¬ 
manteau of yours like a blockhead ; I ’ll do it bet¬ 
ter; stand aside. So you are positively going? 
Why, this is a sad thing! But then it is a thing, 
as your own sense and honour tell you—it is a 
thing—” (Mr. Cleghorn took snuff at every pause 
of his speech; but even this could not carry him 
through it;) when he pronounced the words—“ it is 
a thing that must be done,” the tears fairly started 
from his eyes. “ Now this is ridiculous!” resumed 
he. “ In my days, in my younger days, I mean, 
a man could part with his foreman as easily as he 


256 


POPULAR TALES. 


could take off his glove. I am sure my master 
would as soon have thought of turning bankrupt 
as of shedding a tear at parting with me; and yet 
I was as good a foreman, in my day, as another. 
Not so good a one as you are, to be sure. Eut it 
is no time now to think of your goodness. Well! 
what do we stand here for ? When a thing is to 
be done, the sooner it is done the better. Shake 
hands before you go.” 

Mr. Cleghorn put into James’s hand a fifty-pound 
note, and a letter of recommendation to a Liverpool 
merchant. James left the house without taking 
leave of Miss Cleghorn, who did not think the 
worse of him for his want of gallantry. His 
master had taken care to recommend him to an 
excellent house in Liverpool, where his salary 
would be nearly double that which he had hitherto 
received; but James was notwithstanding very sorry 
to leave Monmouth, where his dear brother, sister, 
and father lived,—to say nothing of Miss Cleghorn. 

Late at night, James was going to the inn at 
which the Liverpool stage sets up, where he was to 
sleep: as he passed through a street that leads 
down to the river Wye, he heard a great noise of 
men quarrelling violently. The moon shone bright, 
and he saw a party of men who appeared to be 


THE CONTRAST. 


25 ? 


fighting in a boat that was just come to shore. He 
asked a person who came out of the public-house, 
and who seemed to have nothing to do with the 
fray, what was the matter. “ Only some smug¬ 
glers, who are quarrelling with one another about 
the division of their booty,” said the passenger, 
who walked on, eager to get out of their way. 
James also quickened his pace, but presently heard 
the cry of “ Murder! murder! Help! help!” and 
then all was silence. 

A few seconds afterward he thought that he 
heard groans. He could not forbear going to the 
spot whence the groans proceeded, in hopes of 
being of some service to a fellow-creature. By the 
time he got thither, the groans had ceased: he 
looked about, but could only see the men in the 
boat, who were rowing fast down the river. As 
he stood on the shore listening, he for some minutes 
heard no sound but that of their oars; but after¬ 
ward a man in the boat exclaimed, with a terrible 
oath, “ There he is! There he is ! All alive again! 
We have not done his business! D—n it, he ’ll 
do ours!” The boatmen rowed faster away, and 
James again heard the groans, though they were 
now much feebler than before. He searched, and 
found the wounded man; who, having been thrown 
22 * 


258 


POPULAR TALES. 


overboard, had with great difficulty swum to shore, 
and fainted with the exertion as soon as he reached 
the land. When he came to his senses, he begged 
James, for mercy’s sake, to carry him into the 
next public-house, and to send for a surgeon to 
dress his wounds. The surgeon came, examined 
them, and declared his fears that the poor man 
could not live four-and-twenty hours. As soon as 
he was able to speak intelligibly, he said he had 
been drinking with a party of smugglers, who had 
just brought in some fresh brandy, and that they 
had quarrelled violently about a keg of contraband 
liquor: he said that he could swear to the man who 
gave him the mortal wound. 

The smugglers were pursued immediately, and 
taken. When they were brought into the sick man’s 
room, James beheld among them three persons 
whom he little expected to meet in such a situation, 
—Idle Isaac, Wild Will, and Bullying Bob. The 
wounded man swore positively to their persons. 
Bullying Bob was the person who gave him the 
fatal blow; but Wild Will began the assault, and 
Idle Isaac shoved him overboard; they were all 
implicated in the guilt; and instead of expressing 
any contrition for their crime, began to dispute 
about which was most to blame: they appealed to 


THE CONTRAST. 


259 


James; and as he would be subpcenaed on their 
trial, each endeavoured to engage him in his favour. 
Idle Isaac took him aside, and said to him, “ You 
have no reason to befriend my brothers. I can tell 
you a secret: they are the greatest enemies your 
family ever had. It was they who set fire to your 
father’s hay-rick. Will was provoked by your 
sister Fanny’s refusing him ; so he determined, as 
he told me, to carry her off; and he meant to have 
done so, in the confusion that was caused by the 
fire; but Bob and he quarrelled the very hour that 
she was to have been carried off; so that part of 
the scheme failed. Now I had no hand in all this, 
being fast asleep in my bed; so I have more claim 
to your good word, at any rate, than my brothers 
can have: and so, when we come to trial, I hope 
you ’ll speak to my character.” 

Wild Will next tried his eloquence. As soon 
as he found that his brother Isaac had betrayed the 
secret, he went to James, and assured him the mis¬ 
chief that had been done was a mere accident: that 
it was true he had intended, for the frolic’s sake, to 
raise a cry of fire, in order to draw Fanny out of 
the house ; but that he was shocked when he found 
how the jest ended. 

As to Bullying Bob, he brazened the matter out; 



260 


POPULAR TALES. 


declaring he had been affronted by the Franklands, 
and that he was glad he had taken his revenge of 
them; that, if the thing was to be done over again, he 
would do it; that James might give him what 
character he pleased upon trial, for that a man 
could be hanged but once. 

Such were the absurd, bravadoing speeches he 
made, while he had an alehouse audience round 
him, to admire his spirit; but a few hours changed 
his tone. He and his brothers were taken before 
a magistrate. Till the committal was actually 
made out, they had hopes of being balled: they 
had despatched a messenger to Admiral Tipsey, 
whose men they called themselves, and expected 
he would offer bail for them to any amount; but 
the bail of their friend Admiral Tipsey was not 
deemed sufficient by the magistrate. 

“ In the first place, I could not bail these men ; 
and if I could, do you think it possible,” said the 
magistrate, “ I could take the bail of such a man 
as that V 9 

“ I understood that he was worth a deal of mo¬ 
ney,” whispered James. 

“ You are mistaken, sir,” said the magistrate: 
“ he is, what he deserves to be, a ruined man. I 
have good reasons for knowing this. He has a ne- 


THE CONTRAST. 


261 


phew, a Mr. Raikes, who is a gamester: while the 
uncle has been carrying on the smuggling trade 
here, at the hazard of his life, the nephew, who 
w’as bred up at Oxford to be a fine gentleman, has 
gamed away all the money his uncle has made, 
during twenty years, by his contraband traffic. At 
the long run these fellows never thrive. Tipsey is 
not worth a groat.” 

James was much surprised by this information, 
and resolved to return immediately to Mr. Cleghorn, 
to tell him what he had heard, and put him on his 
guard. 

Early in the morning he went to his house. 
“ You look as if you were not pleased to see me 
again,” said he to Mr. Cleghorn ; “ and perhaps 
you will impute what I am going to say to bad mo¬ 
tives ; but my regard to you, sir, determines me to 
acquaint you with what I have heard ; you will 
make what use of the information you please.” 

James then related what had passed at the ma¬ 
gistrate’s ; and when Mr. Cleghorn had heard all 
that he had to say, he thanked him in the strongest 
manner for this instance of his regard ; and begged 
he would remain in Monmouth a few days longer. 

Alarmed by the information he received from 
James, Mr. Cleghorn privately made inquiries con- 


262 


POPULAR TALES. 


cerning young Raikes and his uncle. The distress 
into which the young man had plunged himself by 
gambling had been kept a profound secret from his 
relations. It was easy to deceive them as to his 
conduct, because his time had been spent at a dis¬ 
tance from them : he was but just returned home, 
after completing his education. 

The magistrate from whom James first heard of 
his extravagance happened to have a son at Oxford, 
who gave him this intelligence: he confirmed all 
he had said to Mr. Cleghorn, who trembled at the 
danger to which he had exposed his daughter. 
The match with young Raikes was immediately 
broken off ; and all connexion with Admiral Tipsey 
and the smugglers was for ever dissolved by Mr. 
Cleghorn. 

His gratitude to James was expressed with all 
the natural warmth of his character. “ Come back 
and live with me,” said he: “ you have saved me 
and my daughter from ruin. You shall not be my 
shopman any longer, you shall be my partnei: 
and, you know, when you are my partner, theie 
can be nothing said against your thinking of my 
daughter. But all in good time. I would not have 
seen the girl again, if she had married my shop¬ 
man : but my partner will be quite another thing. 


THE CONTRAST. 


263 


You have worked your way up in the world by 
your own deserts, and I give you joy. I believe, 
now it’s over, it would have gone nigh to break 
my heart to part with you; but you must be sen¬ 
sible I was right to keep up my authority in my 
own family. Now things are changed: I give 
my consent: nobody has a right to say a word. 
When I am pleased with my daughter’s choice, 
that is enough. There’s only one thing that goes 
against my pride: your father—” 

“ Oh! sir,” interrupted James, “ if you are going 
to say any thing disrespectful of my father, do not 
say it to me; I beseech you, do not; for I cannot 
bear it. Indeed I cannot, and will not. He is the 
test of fathers!” 

“ I am sure he has the best of children ; and a 
greater blessing there cannot be in this world. I 
was not going to say any thing disrespectful of 
him : I was only going to lament that he should be 
in an almshouse,” said Mr. Cleghorn. 

“ He has determined to remain there,” said 
James, “ till his children have earned money enough 
to support him without hurting themselves. I, my 
brother, and both my sisters are to meet at the 
almshouse on the first day of next month, which 


l 


264 


POPULAR TALES. 


is my father’s birthday; then we shall join all our 
earnings together, and see what can be done.” 

“ Remember, you are my partner,” said Mr. 
Cleghorn. “ On that day you must take me along 
with you. My good-will is part of your earnings, 
and my good-will shall never be shown merely in 
words.” 


i 


CHAPTER VI. 

It is now time to give some account of the 
Bettesworth family. The history of their indolence, 
extravagance, quarrels, and ruin shall be given as 
shortly as possible. 

The fortune left to them by Captain Bettesworth 
was nearly twenty thousand pounds. When they 
got possession of this sum, they thought it could 
never be spent: and each individual of the family 
had separate plans of extravagance, for which they 
required separate supplies. Old Bettesworth, in 
his youth, had seen a house of Squire Somebody’s 
which had struck his imagination, and he resolved 
he would build just such another. This was his 
favourite scheme, and he was delighted with the 



THE CONTRAST. 


265 


thoughts that it would be realized. His wife and 
his sons opposed the plan merely because it was 
his; and consequently he became more obstinately 
bent upon having his own way, as he said, for 
once in his life. He was totally ignorant of build¬ 
ing ; and no less incapable, from his habitual in¬ 
dolence, of managing workmen: the house might 
have been finished for one thousand five hundred 
pounds ; it cost him two thousand pounds : and 
when it was done, the roof let in the rain in sundry 
places, the new ceilings and cornices were damaged, 
so that repairs and a new roof, with leaden gut¬ 
ters, and leaden statues, cost him some addition¬ 
al hundreds. The furnishing of the house Mrs. 
Bettesworth took upon herself; and Sally took 
upon herself to find fault with every article that her 
mother bought. The quarrels were loud, bitter, 
and at last irreconcilable. There was a looking- 
glass, which the mother wanted to have in one 
room, and the daughter insisted upon putting it into 
another: the looking-glass was broken between 
them in the heat of battle. The blame was laid on 
Sally, who, in a rage, declared she would not and 
could not live in the house with her mother. Her 
mother was rejoiced to get rid of her, and she went 
to live with a lieutenant’s lady in the neighbour- 
23 


266 


POPULAR TALES. 


hood, with whom she had been acquainted three 
weeks and two days. Half by scolding, half by 
cajoling her father, she prevailed upon him to give 
her two thousand pounds for her fortune; pro¬ 
mising never to trouble him any more for any 
thing. 

As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Bettesworth gave 
a house-warming, as she called it, to all her ac¬ 
quaintance ; a dinner, a ball, and a supper, in her 
new house. The house was not half-dry, and all 
the company caught cold. Mrs. Bettesworth’s cold 
was the most severe. It happened, at this time, to 
be the fashion to go almost without clothes; and 
as this lady was extremely vain and fond of dress, 
she would absolutely appear in the height of fashion. 
The Sunday after her ball, while she had still the 
remains of a bad cold, she positively would go to 
church, equipped in one petticoat and a thin muslin 
gown, that she might look as young as her daughter 
Jessy. Everybody laughed, and Jessy laughed 
more than any one else; but, in the end, it was no 
laughing matter; Mrs. Bettesworth “caught her 
death of cold.” She was confined to her bed on 
Monday, and was buried the next Sunday. 

Jessy, who had a great notion that she should 
marry a lord, if she could but once get into com- 


THE CONTRAST. 


267 


pany with one, went to live with blind Mrs. Che¬ 
viot; where, according to her mother’s instruc¬ 
tions, “ she laid herself out for goodness.” She 
also took two thousand pounds with her, upon her 
promise never to trouble her father more. 

Her brothers perceived how much was to be 
gained by tormenting a father, who gave from 
weakness, and not from a sense of justice, or a 
feeling of kindness; and they soon rendered them¬ 
selves so troublesome that he was obliged to buy 
off their reproaches. Idle Isaac was a sportsman, 
and would needs have a pack of hounds: they cost 
him two hundred a year. Then he would have 
race-horses; and by them he soon lost some thou¬ 
sands. He was arrested for the money, and his 
father was forced to pay it. 

Bob and Will soon afterward began to think, “ it 
was very hard that so much was to be done for 
Isaac, and nothing for them!” 

Wild Will kept a mistress; and Bullying Bob 
was a cock-fighter: their demands for money were 
frequent and unconscionable; and their continual 
plea was, “ Why, Isaac lost thousands by his race¬ 
horses ; and why should not we have our share ?” 

The mistress and the cockpit had their share; 
and the poor old father, at last, had only one thou- 


268 


POPULAR TALES. 


sand left. He told his sons this, with tears in his 
eyes: “ I shall die in a jail, after all!” said he, 
They listened not to what he said; for they were 
intent upon the bank-notes of this last thousand, 
which were spread upon the table before him. 
Will, half in jest, half in earnest, snatched up a 
parcel of the notes; and Bob insisted on dividing 
the treasure. Will fled out of the house; Bob pur¬ 
sued him, and they fought at the end of their own 
avenue. 

This was on the day that Frankland and his 
family were returning from poor George’s funeral, 
and saw the battle between the brothers. They 
were shamed into a temporary reconciliation, and 
soon afterward united against their father, whom 
they represented to all the neighbours as the most 
cruel and the most avaricious of men, because he 
w r ould not part with the very means of subsistence 
to supply their profligacy. 

While their minds were in this state, Will hap¬ 
pened to become acquainted with a set of smug¬ 
glers, whose disorderly life struck his fancy. He 
persuaded his brothers to leave home with him, and 
to ’list in the service of Admiral Tipsey. Their 
manners then became more brutal; and they 
thought, felt, and lived like men of desperate for- 


THE CONTRAST. 


269 


tunes. The consequence we have seen. In a 
quarrel about a keg of brandy, at an alehouse, 
their passions got the better of them, and, on en¬ 
tering their boat, they committed the offence for 
which they were now imprisoned. 

Mr. Barlow w r as the attorney to whom they ap¬ 
plied, and they endeavoured to engage him to ma¬ 
nage their cause on their trial, but he absolutely 
refused. From the moment he heard from James 
that Will and Bob Bettesworth were the persons 
who set fire to Frankland’s haystack, he urged 
Frank to prosecute them for this crime. “ When 
you only suspected them, my dear Frank, I strongly 
dissuaded you from going to law; but now you 
cannot fail to succeed, and you will recover ample 
damages.” 

“ That is impossible, my dear sir,” replied Frank ; 
“ for the Bettesworths, I understand, are ruined.” 

“ I am sorry for that, on your account; but I 
still think you ought to carry on this prosecution, 
for the sake of public justice. Such pests of soci¬ 
ety should not go unpunished.” 

“ They will probably be punished sufficiently for 
this unfortunate assault, for which they are now tc 
stand their trial. I cannot, in their distress, re¬ 
venge either my own or my father’s wrongs. I am 
1 23 * 


270 


POPULAR TALES. 


sure he would be sorry if I did; for I have often 
and often heard him say, ‘ Never trample upon the 
fallen.’ ” 

“ You are a good, generous young man,” cried 
Mr. Barlow; “ and no wonder you love the father 
who inspired you with such sentiments, and taught 
you such principles. But what a shame it is that 
such a father should be in an almshouse! You 
say he will not consent to be dependent upon any 
one; and that he will not accept of relief from any 
but his own children. This is pride; but it is an 
honourable species of pride; fit for an English yeo¬ 
man. I cannot blame it. But, my dear Frank, 
tell your father he must accept of your friend’s 
credit, as well as of yours. Your credit with me 
is such, that you may draw upon me for five hun¬ 
dred pounds whenever you please. No thanks, 
my boy : half the money I owe you for your ser¬ 
vices as my clerk ; and the other half is well se¬ 
cured to me, by the certainty of your future dili¬ 
gence and success in business. You will be able 
to pay me in a year or two; so I put you under no 
obligation, remember. I will take your bond for 
half the money, if that will satisfy you and your 
proud father.” 

The manner in which this favour was conferred 


THE CONTRAST. 


271 


touched Frank to the heart. He had a heart which 
could be strongly moved by kindness. He was 
beginning to express his gratitude, when Mr. Bar- 
low interrupted him with, “ Come, come! Why 
do we waste our time here, talking sentiment, when 
we ought to be writing law ? Here is work to be 
done, which requires some expedition : a marriage 
settlement to be drawn. Guess for whom.’’ 

Frank guessed all the probable matches among 
his Monmouth acquaintance; but he was rather 
surprised when told that the bridegroom was to be 
young Mr. Folingsby; as it was scarcely two 
months since this gentleman was in love with 
Fanny Frankland. Frank proceeded to draw the 
settlement. 

While he and Mr. Barlow were writing, they 
were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Josiah 
Crumpe. He came to announce Mrs. Crumpe’s 
death, and to request Mr. Barlow’s attendance at 
the opening of her will. This poor lady had lin¬ 
gered out many months longer than it was thought 
she could possibly live; and during all her suffer¬ 
ings, Patty, with indefatigable goodness and temper, 
bore with the caprice and peevishness of disease. 
Those who thought she acted merely from inte¬ 
rested motives expected to find she had used her 


272 POPULAR TALES. 

power over her mistress’s mind entirely for her 
own advantage: they were certain a great part of 
the fortune would be left to her. Mrs. Crumpe’s 
relations were so persuaded of this, that, when they 
were assembled to hear her will read by Mr. Bar- 
low, they began to say to one another in whispers, 
“We’ll set the will aside; we’ll bring her into 
the courts: Mrs. Crumpe was not in her right 
senses when she made this will: she had received 
two paralytic strokes; we can prove that: we can 
set aside the will.” 

Mr. Josiah Crumpe was not one of these whis 
perers; he sat apart from them, leaning on his 
oaken stick in silence. 

Mr. Barlow broke the seals of the will, opened 
it, and read it to the eager company. They were 
much astonished when they found that the whole 
fortune was left to Mr. Josiah Crumpe. The rea¬ 
son for this bequest was given in these words: 

“ Mr. Josiah Crumpe, being the only one of my 
relations who did not torment me for my money, 
even upon my death-bed, I trust that he will pro¬ 
vide suitably for that excellent girl Patty Frankland. 
On this head he knows my wishes. By her own 
desire, I have not myself left her any thing; I 


THE CONTRAST. 


273 


have only bequeathed filly pounds for the use of 
her father.” 

Mr. Josiah Crumpe was the only person who 
heard unmoved the bequest that was made to him ; 
the rest of the relations were clamorous in their 
reproaches, or hypocritical in their congratulations. 
All thoughts of setting aside the will were, how¬ 
ever, abandoned; every legal form had been ob¬ 
served, and with a technical nicety that precluded 
all hopes of successful litigation. 

Mr. Crumpe arose as soon as the tumult of dis¬ 
appointment had somewhat subsided, and counted 
with his oaken stick the numbers that were present. 
“ Here are ten of you, I think. Well! you every 
soul of you hate me; but that is nothing to the 
purpose. I shall keep up the notion I have of the 
character of a true British merchant for my own 
sake—not for yours. I don’t want this woman’s 
money; I have enough of my own, and of my 
own honest making, without legacy-hunting. Why 
did you torment the dying woman? You would 
have been better off, if you had behaved better; 
but that’s over now. A thousand pounds apiece 
you shall have from me, deducting fifty pounds 
which you must each of you give to that excellent 


274 


POPULAR TALES. 


girl Patty Frankland. I am sure you must be all 
sensible of your injustice to her.” 

Fully aware that it was their interest to oblige 
Mr. Crumpe, they now vied with each other in do¬ 
ing justice to Patty. Some even declared they 
had never had any suspicions of her; and others 
laid the blame on the false representations and in¬ 
formation which they said they had had from the 
mischief-making Mrs. Martha. They very willing¬ 
ly accepted of a thousand pounds apiece; and the 
fifty pounds’ deduction was paid as a tax by each 
to Patty’s merit. 

Mistress now of five hundred pounds, she ex¬ 
claimed, “ Oh! my dear father! You shall no 
longer live in an almshouse ! To-morrow will be 
the happiest day of my life ! I don’t know how to 
thank you as I ought, sir,” continued she turning 
to her benefactor. 

“ You have thanked me as you ought, and as I 
like best,” said this plain-spoken merchant; “ and 
now let us say no more about it.” 

In obedience to Mr. Crumpe’s commands, Patty 
said no more to him; but she was impatient to tell 
her brother Frank, and her lover, Mr. Mason, of 
her good fortune: she therefore returned to Mon¬ 
mouth with Mr. Barlow, in hopes of seeing them 


THE CONTRAST. 


275 


immediately; but Frank was not at work at the 
marriage settlement. Soon after Mr. Barlow left 
him he was summoned to attend the trial of the 
Bettesworths. 

These unfortunate young men, depending on 
Frank’s good-nature, well knowing he had refused 
to prosecute them for setting fire to his father’s hay¬ 
rick, thought they might venture to call upon him to 
give them a good character. “ Consider, dear 
Frank,” said Will Bettesworth, “ a good word from 
one of your character might do a great deal for us. 
You were so many years our neighbour. If you 
would only just say that we were never counted 
wild, idle, quarrelsome fellows, to your knowledge. 
Will you ?” 

“ How can I do that?” said Frank: “or how 
could I be believed, if I did, when it is so well 
known in the country—forgive me; at such a time 
as this I cannot mean to taunt you : but it is well 
known in the country that you were called Wild 
Will, Bullying Bob, and Idle Isaac.” 

“ There’s the rub!” said the attorney who was 
employed for the Bettesworths. “ This will come 
out in open court; and the judge and jury will think 
a great deal of it.” 

Oh ! Mr. Frank, Mr. Frank,” cried old Bettes- 


276 


POPULAR TALES. 


worth, “ have pity upon us! Speak in favour of 
these boys of mine ! Think what a disgrace it is 
to me in my old age to have my sons brought this 
way to a public trial! And if they should be trans¬ 
ported ! Oh! Frank, say what you can for them ! 
You were always a good young man, and a good- 
natured young man.” 

Frank was moved by the entreaties and tears of 
this unhappy father; but his good-nature could not 
make him consent to say what he knew to be false. 
“ Do not call me to speak to their characters upon 
this trial,’’ said he, “ I cannot say any thing that 
would serve them ; I shall do them more harm than 
good.” 

Still they had hopes his good-nature would at 
the last moment prevail over his sense of justice, 
and they summoned him. 

“ Well, sir,” said the Bettesworths’ counsel, “you 
appear in favour of the prisoners. You have known 
them, I understand from their childhood; and your 
own character is such that whatever you say in 
their favour will doubtless make a weighty impres¬ 
sion upon the jury.” 

The court was silent, in expectation of what 
Frank should say. He was so much embarrassed 
between his wish to serve his old neighbours and 


THE CONTRAST. 


277 


playfellows, and his dread of saying what he knew 
to be false, that he could not utter a syllable. He 
burst into tears.* 

“This evidence is most strongly against the 
prisoners,” whispered a juryman to his fellows. 

The verdict was brought in at last—Guilty! 
Sentence—transportation. 

As the judge was pronouncing this sentence, old 
Bettesworth was carried out of the court; he had 
dropped senseless. Ill as his sons had behaved to 
him, he could not sustain the sight of their utter 
disgrace and ruin. 

When he recovered his senses, he found himself 
sitting on the stone bench before the court-house, 
supported by Frank. Many of the townspeople 
had gathered round; but regardless of every thing 
but his own feelings, the wretched father exclaimed, 
in a voice of despair, “ I have no children left me 
in my old age! My sons are gone! And where 
are my daughters ? At such a time as this, why 
are not they near their poor old father? Have 
they no touch of natural affections in them ? No! 
they have none. And why should they have any 
for me ? I took no care of them when they were 


24 


* This is drawn from real life. 


278 


POPULAR TALES. 


young; no wonder they take none of me now I 
am old. Ay ! neighbour Frankland was right: he 
brought up his children ‘ in the way they should 
go.’ Now he has the credit and the comfort of 
them; and see what mine are come to! They 
bring their father’s gray hairs with sorrow to the 
grave!” 

The old man wept bitterly: then looking round 
him, he again asked for his daughters. “ Surely 
they are in the town, and it cannot be much trou¬ 
ble to them to come to me! Even these strangers, 
who have never seen me before, pity me. But my 
own have no feeling; no, not for one another! 
Do these girls know the sentence that has been 
passed upon their brothers? Where are they? 
Where are they ? Jessy, at least, might be near 
me at such a time as this! I was always an 
indulgent father to Jessy.” 

There were people present who knew what was 
become of Jessy; but they would not tell the news 
to her father at this terrible moment. Two of Mrs. 
Cheviott’s servants were in the crowd ; and one of 
them whispered to Frank, “ You had best, sir, pre¬ 
vail on this poor old man to go to his home, and 
not to ask for his daughter: he will hear the bad 
news soon enough.” 


THE CONTRAST. 


279 


Frank persuaded the father to go home to his 
lodgings, and did every thing in his power to com¬ 
fort him. But, alas ! the old man said, too truly, 
“ There is no happiness left for me in this world ! 
What a curse it is to have bad children! My 
children have broken my heart! And it is all my 
own fault: I took no care of them when they were 
young; and they take no care of me now I am old. 
But, tell me, have you found out what is become 
of my daughter?” 

Frank evaded the question, and begged the old 
man to rest in peace this night. He seemed quite 
exhausted by grief, and at last sank into a sort of 
stupefaction: it could hardly be called sleep. Frank 
was obliged to return home, to proceed with his 
business for Mr. Barlow; and he was glad to es¬ 
cape from the sight of misery, which, however he 
might pity it, he could not relieve. 

It was happy indeed for Frank that he had 
taken his father’s advice, and had early broken off 
all connexion with Jilting Jessy. After duping 
others, she at length had become a greater dupe. 
She had this morning gone off with a common 
sergeant, with whom she had fallen suddenly and 
desperately in love. He cared for nothing but her 
two thousand pounds; and to complete her mis- 


280 


POPULAR TALES. 


fortune, was a man of bad character, whose ex¬ 
travagance and profligacy had reduced him to the 
sad alternative of either marrying for money or 
going to jail. 

As for Sally, she was at this instant far from all 
thoughts either of her father or her brothers; she 
was in the heat of a scolding match, which termi¬ 
nated rather unfortunately for her matrimonial 
schemes. Ensign Bloomington had reproached 
her with having forced him into his aunt’s room, 
when she had absolutely refused to see him, and 
thus being the cause of his losing a handsome 
legacy. Irritated by this charge, the lady replied 
in no very gentle terms. Words ran high ,* and 
so high at last that the gentleman finished by 
swearing that he would sooner marry the devil 
than such a vixen ! 

The match was thus broken off, to the great 
amusement of all Saucy Sally’s acquaintance. 
Her ill-humour had made her hated by all the 
neighbours; so that her disappointment at the loss 
of the ensign was imbittered by their malicious 
raillery, and by the prophecy which she heard 
more than whispered from all sides, that she would 
never have another admirer, either for “ love or 
money.” 


THE CONTRAST. 


281 


Ensign Bloomington was deaf to all overtures 
of peace: he was rejoiced to escape from this 
virago ; and as we presume that none of our rea 
ders are much interested in her fate, we shall leave 
her to wear the willow, without following her 
history further. 

Let us return to Mr. Barlow, whom we left 
looking over Mr. Folingsby’s marriage settlements. 
When he had seen that they were rightly drawn, 
he sent Frank with them to Folingsby-hall. 

Mr. Folingsby was alone when Frank arrived. 
“ Sit down, if you please, sir,” said he. “ Though 
I have never had the pleasure of seeing you be¬ 
fore, your name is well known to me. You are a 
brother of Fanny Frankland’s. She is a charming 
and excellent young woman! You have reason 
to be proud of your sister, and I have reason to be 
obliged to her.” 

He then adverted to what had formerly passed 
between them at Mrs. Hungerford’s; and con¬ 
cluded by saying it would give him real satisfac¬ 
tion to do any service to him or his family. 
“ Speak, and tell me what I can do for you.” 

Frank looked down, and was silent: for he 
thought Mr. Folingsby must recollect the injustice 
that he, or his agent, had shown in turning old 
24 * 


282 


POPULAR TALES. 


Frankland out of his farm. He was too proud to 
ask favours where he felt he had a claim to jus¬ 
tice. 

In fact, Mr. Folingsby had, as he said, “ left 
every thing to his agent;” and so little did he 
know either of the affairs of his tenants, their 
persons, or even their names, that he had not at 
this moment the slightest idea that Frank was the 
son of one of the oldest and the best of them. 
He did not know that old Frankland had been re¬ 
duced to take refuge in an almshouse in conse¬ 
quence of his agent’s injustice. Surprised by 
Frank’s cold silence, he questioned him more 
closely, and it was with astonishment and shame 
that he heard the truth. 

“ Good Heavens!” cried he, “ has my negli¬ 
gence been the cause of all this misery to your 
father? to the father of Fanny Frankland! I re¬ 
member, now that you recall it to my mind, some¬ 
thing of an old man with fine gray hair, coming 
to speak to me about some business, just as I was 
setting off for Ascot races. Was that your father? 
I recollect I told him I was in a great hurry; and 
that Mr. Deal, my agent, would certainly do him 
justice. In this I was grossly mistaken; and I 
have suffered severely for the confidence I had in 


THE CONTRAST. 


283 


that fellow. Thank God, I shall now have my 
affairs in my own hands. I am determined to 
look into them immediately. My head is no longer 
full of horses and gigs, and curricles. There is a 
time for every thing : my giddy days are over. I 
only wish that my thoughtlessness had never hurt 
any one but myself.” 

“ All I now can do,” continued Mr. Folingsby, 
u is to make amends, as fast as possible, for the 
past. To begin with your father: most fortunate¬ 
ly I have the means in my power. His farm is 
come back into my hands ; and it shall, to-morrow, 
be restored to him. Old Bettes worth was with me 
scarcely an hour ago, to surrender the farm, on 
which there is a prodigious arrear of rent: but I 
understand that he has built a good house on the 
farm; and I am extremely glad of it, for your 
father’s sake. Tell him it shall be his. Tell him 
I am ready, I am eager, to put him in possession 
of it; and to repair the injustice I have done, or 
which, at least, I have permitted to be done in my 
name.” 

Frank was so overjoyed that he could scarcely 
utter one word of thanks. In his way home he 
called at Mrs. Hungerford’s to tell the good news to 
his sister Fanny. This was the eve of their 


284 


POPULAR TALES. 


father’s birthday ; and they agreed to meet at the 
almshouse in the morning. 

The happy morning came. Old Frankland was 
busy in his little garden, when he heard the voices 
of his children, who were coming towards him. 
“ Fanny! Patty ! James! Frank! Welcome, my 
children! Welcome! I knew you would be so 
kind as to come to see your old father on this day ; 
so I was picking some of my currants for you, to 
make you as welcome as I can. But I wonder 
you are not ashamed to come to see me in an 
almshouse. Such gay lads and lasses! I well 
know I have reason to be proud of you all. Why, 
I think I never saw you, one and all, look so well 
in my whole life!” 

“ Perhaps, father,” said Frank, u because you 
never saw us, one and all, so happy ! Will you 
sit down, dear father, here in your arbour; and 
we will all sit upon the grass, at your feet, and 
each tell you stories, and all the good news.” 

“ My children,” said he % “ do what you will with 
me ! It makes my old heart swim with joy to see 
you all again around me looking so happy.” 

The father sat down in his arbour, and his 
children placed themselves at his feet. First his 
daughter Patty spoke; and then Fanny; then 


THE CONTRAST. 


285 


James; and at last Frank. When they had all 
told their little histories, they offered to their father 
in one purse their common riches: the rewards of 
their own good conduct. 

“ My beloved children!” said Frankkmd, over¬ 
powered with his tears, “ this is too much joy for 
me! this is the happiest moment of my life! None 
but the father of such children can know what I 
feel! Your success in the world delights me ten 
times the more, because I know it is all owing to 
yourselves.” 

“ Oh! no, dear father !” cried they with one ac¬ 
cord ; “ no, dear, dear father, our success is all 
owing to you! Every thing we have is owing to 
you; to the care you took of us from our infancy 
upward. If you had not watched for our welfare, 
and taught us so well, we should not now all be so 
happy ! Poor Bettes worth !” 

Here they were interrupted by Hannah, the 
faithful maid-servant, who had always lived with 
old Frankland. She came running down the garden 
so fast that, when she reached the arbour, she was 
so much out of breath she could not speak. “ Dear 
heart! God bless you all!” cried she, as soon as 
she recovered breath/ “But it is no time to be 
sitting here. Come in, sir, for mercy’s sake,” 


286 


POPULAR TALES. 


said she, addressing herself to her old master. 
“ Come in to be ready ; come in, all of you, to be 
ready!” 

“ Ready! Ready for what ?” 

“ Oh ! ready for fine things ! Fine doings ! 
Only come in, and I ’ll tell you as we go along. 
How I have torn all my hand with this gooseberry- 
bush ! But no matter for that. So then you have 
not heard a word of what is going on ? No, how 
could you 1 And you did not miss me when you 
first came into the house ?” 

“ Forgive us for that, good Hannah: we were 
in such a hurry to see my father, we thought of 
nothing and nobody else.” 

“ Very natural. Well, Miss Fanny, I’ve been 
up at the great house with your lady, Mrs. Hun- 
gerford. A better lady cannot be! Do you know, 
she sent for me on purpose to speak to me; and I 
know things that you are not to know yet. But 
this much I may tell you, there’s a carriage coming 
here to carry my master away to his new house; 
and there’s horses and side-saddles besides for you, 
and you, and you, and me. And Mrs. Hungerford 
is coming in her own coach ; and young Mr. Fo- 
lingsby is coming in his carriage; and Mr. Barlow 
in Mr. Jos. Crumpe’s carriage; and Mr. Cleghora 


THE CONTRAST. 


287 


and his pretty daughter in the gig; and—and—and 
—heaps of carriages besides ! friends of Mrs. Hun- 
gerford’s: and there’s such crowds gathering in 
the streets; and I’m going on to get breakfast.’’ 

“ Oh! my dear father,” cried Frank, “ make 
haste, and take off this badge-coat before they 
come! We have brought proper clothes for you.” 

Frank pulled off the badge-coat, as he called it, 
and flung it from him, saying, “ My father shall 
never wear you more.” 

Fanny had just tied on her father’s clean neck¬ 
cloth, and Patty had smoothed his reverend gra^ 
locks, when the sound of the carriages was heard. 
All that Hannah had told them was true. Mrs. 
Hungerford had engaged all her friends, and all 
who were acquainted with the good conduct of the 
Franklands, to attend her on this joyful occasion. 

“ Triumphal cavalcades and processions,” said 
she, “ are in general foolish things—mere gratifi- 
fications of vanity ; but this is not in honour of 
vanity, but in honour of virtue. We shall do good 
in the country, by showing that we respect and 
admire it in whatever station it is to be found. 
Here is a whole family who have conducted them¬ 
selves uncommonly well; who have exerted them¬ 
selves to relieve their aged father from a situation 


288 


POPULAR TALES. 


to which he was reduced without any fault or im¬ 
prudence of his own. Their exertions have suc¬ 
ceeded. Let us give them what they will value 
more than money, sympathy.” 

Convinced or persuaded by what Mrs. Hunger- 
ford said, all her friends and acquaintances at¬ 
tended her this morning to the almshouse. Crowds 
of people followed ; and old Frankland was carried 
in triumph by his children to his new habitation. 

The happy father lived many years to enjoy the 
increasing prosperity of his family.* 

May every good father have as grateful children. 

* It may be necessary to inform some readers that Patty 
and Fanny were soon united to their lovers; that James, 
with Mr. Cleghorn’s consent, married Miss Cleghorn ; and 
that Frank did not become an old bachelor: he married 
an amiable girl, who was ten times prettier than Jilting 
Jessy, and of whom he was twenty times as fond. Those 
who wish to know the history of all the wedding-clothes 
of the parties may have their curiosity gratified by di¬ 
recting a line of inquiry, post paid, to the editor hereof. 


May , 1801. 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 


CHAPTER I. 

In the island of Jamaica there lived two planters, 
whose methods of managing their slaves were as 
different as possible. Mr. Jefferies considered the 
negroes as an inferior species, incapable of grati¬ 
tude, disposed to treachery, and to be roused from 
their natural indolence only by force; he treated 
his slaves, or rather suffered his overseer to treat 
them, with the greatest severity. 

Jefferies was not a man of a cruel, but of a 
thoughtless and extravagant temper. He was of 
such a sanguine disposition that he always calcu¬ 
lated upon having a fine season and fine crops on 
his plantation; and never had the prudence to make 
allowance for unfortunate accidents: he required, 
as he said, from his overseer produce and not ex¬ 
cuses. 

Durant, the overseer, did not scruple to use the 
25 


290 


POPULAR TALES. 


most cruel and barbarous methods of forcing the 
slaves to exertions beyond their strength.* Com¬ 
plaints of his brutality, from time to time, reached 
his master’s ears ; but though Mr. Jefferies was 
moved to momentary compassion, he shut his heart 
against conviction: he hurried away to the jovial 
banquet, and drowned all painful reflections in wine. 

He was this year much in debt; and therefore, 
being more than usually anxious about his crop, he 
pressed his overseer to exert himself to the utmost. 

The wretched slaves upon his plantation thought 
themselves still more unfortunate when they com¬ 
pared their condition with that of the negroes on 
the estate of Mr. Edwards. This gentleman treat¬ 
ed his slaves with all possible humanity and kind¬ 
ness. He wished that there was no such thing 
as slavery in the world; but he was convinced, by 
the arguments of those who have the best means of 
obtaining information, that the sudden emancipation 
of the negroes would rather increase than diminish 

* The Negro Slaves— A fine drama, by Kotzebue. It 
is to be hoped that such horrible instances of cruelty are 
not now to be found in nature. Bryan Edwards, in his 
History of Jamaica, says that most of the planters are hu 
mane; but he allows that some facts can be cited in con¬ 
tradiction of the assertion. 


I 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 291 

their miseries. His benevolence, therefore, con¬ 
fined itself within the bounds of reason. He 
adopted those plans for the amelioration of the state 
of the slaves which appeared to him the most likely 
to succeed without producing any violent agitation 
or revolution.* For instance, his negroes had 
reasonable and*fixed daily tasks ; and when these 
were finished, they were permitted to employ their 
time for their own advantage or amusement. If 
they chose to employ themselves longer for their 
master, they were paid regular wages for their ex¬ 
tra work. This reward, for as such it was con¬ 
sidered, operated most powerfully upon the slaves. 
Those who are animated by hope can perform what 
would seem impossibilities to those who are under 
the depressing influence of fear. The wages which 
Mr. Edwards promised, he took care to see punc¬ 
tually paid. 

He had an excellent overseer, of the name of 
Abraham Bayley, a man of a mild but steady tem¬ 
per, who was attached, not only to his master’s in¬ 
terests, but to his virtues; and who, therefore, was 
more intent upon seconding his humane views than 
upon squeezing from the labour of the negroes the 

* History of the West Indies, from which these ideas are 
adooted—not stolen. 


292 


POPULAR TALES. 


utmost produce. Each negro had, near his cottage, 
a portion of land called his provision ground ; and 
one day in the week was allowed for its cultivation. 

It is common in Jamaica for the slaves to have 
provision grounds, which they cultivate for their 
own advantage; but it too often happens that, when 
a good negro has successfully improved his little 
spot of ground, when he has built himself a house, 
and begins to enjoy the fruits of his industry, his 
acquired property is seized upon by the sheriff’s of¬ 
ficer for the payment of his master’s debts ; he is 
forcibly separated from his wife and children, drag¬ 
ged to public auction, purchased by a stranger, and 
perhaps sent to terminate his miserable existence 
in the mines of Mexico ; excluded for ever from 
the light of heaven; and all this without any crime 
or imprudence on his part, real or pretended. He 
is punished because his master is unfortunate ! 

To this barbarous injustice the negroes on Mr. 
Edward’s plantation were never exposed. He never 
exceeded his income; he engaged in no wild specu¬ 
lations; he contracted no debts; and his slaves, 
therefore, were in no danger of being seized by a 
sheriff’s officer: their property was secured to them 
by the prudence as well as by the generosity of 
their master. 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 293 

One morning, as Mr. Edwards was walking in 
that part of his plantation which joined to Mr. 
Jefferies’ estate, he thought he heard the voice of 
distress at some distance. The lamentations grew 
louder and louder as he approached a cottage which 
stood upon the borders of Jefferies’ plantation. 

This cottage belonged to a slave of the name of 
C<esar, the best negro in Mr. Jefferies’ possession. 
Such had been his industry and exertion, that not¬ 
withstanding the severe tasks imposed by Durant, 
the overseer, Csesar found means to cultivate his 
provision ground to a degree of perfection nowhere 
else to be seen on this estate. Mr. Edwards had 
often admired this poor fellow’s industry, and now 
hastened to inquire what misfortune had befallen 
him. 

When he came to the cottage, he found Csesar 
standing with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed 
upon the ground. A young and beautiful female 
negro was weeping bitterly, as she knelt at the feet 
of Durant, the overseer, who, regarding her with 
a sullen aspect, repeated, “ He must go. I tell you, 
woman, he must go. What signifies all this non¬ 
sense ?” 

At the sight of Mr. Edwards, the overseer’s 
countenance suddenly changed, and assumed an 
25 # 


294 


POPULAR TALES. 


air of obsequious civility. The poor woman re¬ 
tired to the farther corner of the cottage, and con¬ 
tinued to weep. Csesar never moved. “ Nothing 
is the matter, sir,” said Durant, “ but that Csesar is 
going to be sold. That is what the woman is cry¬ 
ing for. They were to be married; but we ’ll find 
Clara another husband, I tell her; and she ’ll get 
the better of her grief, you know, sir, as I tell her, 
in time.” 

“ Never! never!” said Clara. 

“ To whom is Csesar going to be sold; and for 
what sum ?” 

“ For what can be got for him,” replied Durant, 
laughing; “ and to whoever will buy him. The 
sheriff’s officer is here, who has seized him for 
debt, and must make the most of him at market.” 

“ Poor fellow !” said Mr. Edwards ; “ and must 
he leave this cottage which he has built, and these 
bananas which he has planted ?” 

Csesar now for the first time looked up, and fix¬ 
ing his eyes upon Mr. Edwards for a moment, ad¬ 
vanced with an intrepid rather than an imploring 
countenance, and said, “Will you be my master? 
Will you be her master? Buy both of us. You 
shall not repent of it. Csesar will serve you faith¬ 
fully.” 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 


295 


On hearing these words, Clara sprang forward, 
and clasping her hands together, repeated, 44 Csesar 
will serve you faithfully.” 

Mr. Edwards was moved by their entreaties, but 
he left them without declaring his intentions. He 
went immediately to Mr. Jefferies, whom he found 
stretched on a sofa, drinking coffee. As soon as 
Mr. Edwards mentioned the occasion of his visit, 
and expressed his sorrow for Csesar, Jefferies ex¬ 
claimed, 44 Yes, poor devil! I pity him from the 
bottom of my soul. But what can I do ? I leave 
all those things to Durant. He says the sheriff’s 
officer has seized him; and there’s an end of the 
matter. You know money must be had. Besides, 
Csesar is not worse off than any other slave sold 
for debt. What signifies talking about the matter, 
as if it were something that never happened before! 
Is not it a case that occurs every day in Jamaica?” 

44 So much the worse,” replied Mr. Edwards. 

44 The worse for them, to be sure,” said Jefferies. 
4 But, after all, they are slaves, and used to be 
treated as such; and they tell me the negroes are 
a thousand times happier here, with us, than they 
ever were in their own country.” 

4 * Did the negroes tell you so themselves?” 

44 No; but people better informed than negroes* 


296 


POPULAR TALES. 


have told me so; and, after all, slaves there 
must be; for indigo, and rum, and sugar we must 
have.” 

“ Granting it to be physically impossible that the 
world should exist without rum, sugar, and indigo, 
why could they not be produced by freemen as 
well as by slaves ? If we hired negroes for la¬ 
bourers, instead of purchasing them for slaves, do 
you think they would not work as well as they do 
now? Does any negro, under the fear of the 
overseer, work harder than a Birmingham jour¬ 
neyman, or a Newcastle collier, who toil for them¬ 
selves and their families ?” 

“ Of that I don’t pretend to judge. All I know 
is, that the West India planters would be ruined 
if they had no slaves, and I am a West India 
planter.” 

“ So am I: yet I do not think they are the only 
people whose interests ought to be considered in 
this business.” 

“ Their interests, luckily, are protected by the 
laws of the land; and though they are rich men, 
and white men, and freemen, they have as good a 
claim to their rights as the poorest black slave on 
any of our plantations.” 

“ The law, in our case, seems to make tl\e right; 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 297 

and the very reverse ought to be done—the right 
should make the law.” 

“ Fortunately for us planters, we need not enter 
into such nice distinctions. You could not, if you 
would, abolish the trade. Slaves would be smug¬ 
gled into the islands.” 

“ What, if nobody would buy them ! You know 
that you cannot smuggle slaves into England. 
The instant a slave touches English ground he be¬ 
comes free. Glorious privilege ! Why should it 
not be extended to all her dominions ? If the future 
importation of slaves into these islands were for¬ 
bidden by law, the trade must cease. No man can 
either sell or possess slaves without its being known: 
they cannot be smuggled like lace or brandy.” 

“ Well, well!” retorted Jefferies, a little impa¬ 
tiently, “ as yet the law is on our side. I can do 
nothing in this business, nor you neither.” 

“Yes, we can do something; we can endeavoui 
to make our negroes as happy as possible.” 

“ I leave the management of these people to Du¬ 
rant.” 

“ That is the very thing of which they complain; 
forgive me for speaking to you with the frankness 
of an old acquaintance.’’ 

“ Oh ! you can’t oblige me more: I love frank- 


298 


POPULAR TALES. 


ness of all things ! To tell you the truth, I have 
heard complaints of Durant’s severity ; but 1 make 
it a principle to turn a deaf ear to them, for I know 
nothing can be done with these fellows without it. 
You are partial to negroes; but even you must 
allow they are a race of beings naturally inferior 
to us. You may in vain think of managing a 
black as you would a white. Do what you please 
for a negro, he will cheat you the first opportunity 
he finds. You know what their maxim is— c God 
gives black men what white men forget.’ ” 

To these common-place desultory observations 
Mr. Edwards made no reply ; but recurred to poor 
Csesar, and offered to purchase both him and Clara, 
at the highest price the sheriff’s officer could obtain 
for them at market. Mr. Jefferies, with the utmost 
politeness to his neighbour, but with the most per¬ 
fect indifference to the happiness of those whom he 
considered of a different species from himself, ac¬ 
ceded to this proposal. Nothing could be more 
reasonable, he said ; and he was happy to have it 
in his power to oblige a gentleman for whom he 
had such a high esteem. 

The bargain was quickly concluded with the 
sheriff’s officer; for Mr. Edwards willingly paid 
several dollars more than the market price for the 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 299 

two slaves. When Caesar and Clara heard that 
they were not to be separated, their joy and grati¬ 
tude was expressed with all the ardour and tender¬ 
ness peculiar to their different characters. Clara 
was an Eboe, Caesar a Koromantyn negro; the 
Eboes are soft, languishing, and timid; the Koro- 
mantyns are frank, fearless, martial, and heroic. 

Mr. Edwards carried his new slaves home with 
him, desired Bayley, his overseer, to mark out a 
provision-ground for Caesar, and to give him a cot¬ 
tage which happened at this time to be vacant. 

“ Now, my good friend,” said he to Caesar, “ you 
may work for yourself, without fear that what you 
earn may be taken from you, or that you should 
ever be sold to pay your master’s debts. If he does 
not understand what I am saying,” continued Mr. 
Edwards, turning to his overseer, “ you will explain 
it to him.” 

Caesar perfectly understood all that Mr. Edwards 
said; but his feelings were at this instant so strong 
that he could not find expression for his gratitude : 
he stood like one stupified! Kindness was new to 
him; it overpowered his manly heart ,* and, at hear¬ 
ing the words “ my good friend,” the tears gushed 
from his eyes : tears which no torture could have 
extorted! Gratitude swelled in his bosom; and 


300 


POPULAR TALES. 


he longed to be alone, that he might freely yield to 
his emotions. 

He was glad when the conch-shell sounded to 
call the negroes to their daily labour, that he might 
relieve the sensations of his soul by bodily exertion. 
He performed his task in silence; and an inattentive 
observer might have thought him sullen. 

In fact, he was impatient for the day to be over, 
that he might get rid of a heavy load which 
weighed upon his mind. 

The cruelties practised by Durant, the overseer 
of Jefferies’ plantation, had exasperated the slaves 
under his dominion. 

They were all leagued together in a conspiracy, 
which was kept profoundly secret. Their object 
was to extirpate every white man, woman, and 
child in the island. Their plans were laid with 
consummate art; and the negroes were urged to 
execute them by all the courage of despair. 

The confederacy extended to all the negroes in 
the island of Jamaica, excepting those on the plan¬ 
tation of Mr. Edwards. To them no hint of the 
dreadful secret had yet been given; their country¬ 
men, knowing the attachment they felt to their 
master, dared not trust them with these projects of 
vengeance. Hector, the negro who was at the 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 301 

head of the conspirators, was the particular friend 
of Caesar, and had imparted to him all his designs. 
These friends were bound to each other by the 
strongest ties. Their slavery and their sufferings 
began in the same hour: they were both brought 
from their own country in the same ship. This 
circumstance alone forms, among the negroes, a 
bond of connexion not easily to be dissolved. But 
the friendship of Caesar and Hector commenced 
even before they were united by the sympathy of 
misfortune; they were both of the same nation, 
both Koromantyns; in Africa they had both been 
accustomed to command; for they had signalized 
themselves by superior fortitude and courage. 
They respected each other for excelling in all 
which they had been taught to consider as virtu¬ 
ous ; and with them revenge was a virtue! 

Revenge was the ruling passion of Hector: in 
Caesar’s mind it was rather a principle instilled by 
education. The one considered it as a duty, the 
other felt it as a pleasure. Hector’s sense of in¬ 
jury was acute in the extreme; he knew not how 
to forgive. Caesar’s sensibility was yet more alive 
to kindness than to insult. Hector would sacrifice 
his life to extirpate an enemy. Caesar would de- 
26 


302 


POPULAR TALES. 


vote himself for the defence of a friend; and 
Caesar now considered a white man as his friend. 

He was now placed in a painful situation. All 
his former friendships, all the solemn promises by 
which he was bound to his companions in misfor¬ 
tune, forbade him to indulge that delightful feeling 
of gratitude and affection, which, for the first time, 
he experienced for one of that race of beings 
whom he had hitherto considered as detestable 
tyrants—objects of implacable and just revenge! 

Caesar was most impatient to have an interview 
with Hector, that he might communicate his new 
sentiments, and dissuade him from those schemes 
of destruction which he meditated. At midnight, 
when all the slaves except himself were asleep, he 
left his cottage, and went to Jefferies’ plantation, to 
the hut m which Hector slept. Even in his dreams 
Hector breathed vengeance. “ Spare none! Sons 
of Africa, spare none!” were the words he utlc rod 
in his sleep, as Caesar approached the mat on 
which he lay. The moon shone full upon him. 
Caesar contemplated the countenance of his friend, 
fierce even in sleep. “ Spare none! Oh, yes! 
There is one that must be spared. There is one 
for whose sake all must be spared.” 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 803 

He wakened Hector by this exclamation. “ Of 
what were you dreaming V 5 said Csesar. 

tc Of that which, sleeping or waking, fills my 
soul—revenge! Why did you waken me from 
my dream ? It was delightful. The whites were 
weltering in their blood. But silence! we may be 
overheard.” 

“ No ,* every one sleeps but ourselves,” replied 
Csesar. “ I could not sleep, without speaking to 
you on—a subject that weighs upon my mind. 
You have seen Mr. Edwards?” 

“ Yes. He that is now your master.’ 5 

“ He that is now my benefactor—my friend !” 

“ Friend! Can you call a white man friend ?” 
cried Hector, starting up with a look of astonish¬ 
ment and indignation. 

“ Yes,” replied Csesar, with firmness. “ And 
you would speak, ay, and would feel, as I do, 
Hector, if you knew this white man. Oh, how 
unlike he is to all of his race, that we have ever 
seen! Do not turn from me with so much disdain. 
Hear me with patience, my friend.” 

“ I cannot,” replied Hector, “ listen with pa¬ 
tience to one who between the rising and the 
setting sun can forget all his resolutions, all his 
promises; who by a few soft words can be so 


304 


POPULAR TALES. 


wrought upon as to forget all the insults, all the 
injuries he has received from this accursed race; 
and can even call a white man friend!” 

Caesar, unmoved by Hector’s anger, continued 
to speak of Mr. Edwards with the warmest ex¬ 
pressions of gratitude; and finished by declaring 
he would sooner forfeit his life than rebel against 
such a master. He conjured Hector to desist from 
executing his designs; but all was in vain. Hector 
sat with his elbows fixed upon his knees, leaning 
his head, upon his hands, in gloomy silence. 

Caesar’s mind was divided between love for his 
friend and gratitude to his master: the conflict was 
violent and painful. Gratitude at last prevailed: 
he repeated his declaration, that he would rather 
die than continue in a conspiracy against his bene¬ 
factor ! 

Hector refused to except him from the general 
doom. “ Betray us if you will!” cried he. “ Be¬ 
tray our secrets to him whom you call your bene¬ 
factor ; to him whom a few hours have made your 
friend! To him sacrifice the friend of your youth, 
the companion of your better days, of your better 
self! Yes, Ccesar, deliver me over to the tor¬ 
mentors : I can endure no more than they can in¬ 
flict. I shall expire without a sigh, without a groan. 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 305 

Why do you linger here, Csssar? Why do you 
hesitate? Hasten this moment to your master; 
claim your reward for delivering into his power 
hundreds of your countrymen! Why do you 
hesitate ? Away! The coward’s friendship can 
be of use to none. Who can value his gratitude ? 
Who can fear his revenge?” 

Hector raised his voice so high, as he pronounced 
these words, that he wakened Durant, the overseer, 
who slept in the next house. They heard him call 
out suddenly, to inquire who was there: and Csesar 
had but just time to make his escape before Durant 
appeared. He searched Hector’s cottage; but find¬ 
ing no one, again retired to rest. This man’s ty¬ 
ranny made him constantly suspicious: he dreaded 
that the slaves should combine against him; and 
he endeavoured to prevent them by every threat 
and every stratagem he could devise, from con¬ 
versing with each other. 

They had, however, taken their measures hith¬ 
erto so secretly, that he had not the slightest idea 
of the conspiracy which was forming in the island. 
Their schemes were not yet ripe for execution; but 
the appointed time approached. Hector, when he 
coolly reflected on what had passed between him 
and Csesar, could not help admiring the frankness 
26 * 


306 


POPULAR TALES. 


and courage with which he had avowed his change 
of sentiments. By this avowal, Csesar had in fact 
exposed his own life to the most imminent danger, 
from the vengeance of the conspirators ; who might 
be tempted to assassinate him who had their lives 
in his power. Notwithstanding the contempt with 
which, in the first moment of passion, he had 
treated his friend, he was extremely anxious that 
he should not break off all connexion with the con¬ 
spirators. He knew that Caesar possessed both in¬ 
trepidity and eloquence; and that his opposition to 
their schemes would perhaps entirely frustrate their 
whole design. He therefore determined to use every 
possible means to bend him to their purposes. 

He resolved to have recourse to one of those 
persons* who, among the negroes, are considered 

* The enlightened inhabitants of Europe may perhaps 
smile at the superstitious credulity of the negroes, who re¬ 
gard those ignorant beings called Obeah people with the 
most profound respect and dread; who believe that they 
hold in their hands the power of good and evil fortune, of 
health and sickness, of life and death. The instances which 
are related of their power over the minds of their country¬ 
men are so wonderful that none but the most unquestionable 
authority could make us think them credible. The follow¬ 
ing passage from Edward’s History of the West Indies, is 
inserted, to give an idea of this strange infatuation: 

“ In the year 1760, when a very formidable insurrection 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 


307 


as sorceresses. Esther, an old Koromantyn ne- 
gress, had obtained by her skill in poisonous herbs, 

of the Koromantyn or Gold Coast negroes broke out, in 
the parish of St. Mary, and spread through almost every 
other district of the island, an old Koromantyn negro, the 
chief instigator and oracle of the insurgents in that parish, 
who had administered the fetish, or solemn oath, to the 
conspirators, and furnished them with a magical prepara¬ 
tion, which was to render them invulnerable, was fortu¬ 
nately apprehended, convicted, and hung up, with all his 
feathers and trumperies about him; and his execution struck 
the insurgents with a general panic, from which they never 
afterward recovered. The examinations, which were taken 
at that period, first opened the eyes of the public to the 
very dangerous tendency of the Obeah practices ; and gave 
birth to the law which was then enacted for their suppres¬ 
sion and punishment; but neither the terror of this law, 
the strict investigation which has since been made after the 
professors of Obi, nor the many examples of those who 
from time to time have been hanged or transported, have 
hitherto produced the desired effect. A gentleman, on his 
returning to Jamaica, in the year 1775, found that a great 
many of his negroes had died during his absence ; and that, 
of such as remained alive, at least one-half were debilitated, 
bloated, and in a very deplorable condition. The mortality 
continued after his arrival; and two or three were fre¬ 
quently buried in one day; others were taken ill, and began 
to decline under the same symptoms. Every means were 
tried, by medicine and the most careful nursing, to preserve 
the lives of the feeblest; but, in spite of all his endeavours, 
this depopulation went on for a twelvemonth longer, with 


308 


POPULAR TALES 


and her knowledge of venomous reptiles, a high 
reputation among her countrymen. She soon taught 

more or less intermission, and without his being able to 
ascertain the real cause, though the Obeah practice was 
strongly suspected, as well by himself as by the doctor, 
and other white persons upon the plantation; as it was 
known to have been very common in that part of the island, 
and particularly among the negroes of the Popaw or Popo 
country. Still he was unable to verify his suspicions; be¬ 
cause the patients constantly denied their having any thing 
to do with persons of that order, or any knowledge of them. 
At length, a negress, who had been ill for some time, came 
and informed him that, feeling it was impossible for her to 
live much longer, she thought herself bound in duty, be¬ 
fore she died, to impart a very great secret, and acquaint 
him with the true cause of her disorder; in hopes that the 
disclosure might prove the means of stopping that mischief, 
which had already swept away such a number of her fel¬ 
low-slaves. She proceeded to say, that her step-mother, a 
woman of the Popo country, above eighty years old, but 
still hale and active, had put Obi upon her; as she had upon 
those who had lately died; and that the old woman had 
practised Obi for as many years past as she could remember. 
The other negroes of the plantation no sooner heard of this 
impeachment than they ran in a body to their master, and 
confirmed the truth of it.**** Upon this he repaired di¬ 
rectly, with six white servants, to the old woman’s house ; 
and, forcing open the door, observed the whole inside of 
the roof, which was of thatch, and every crevice of the 
wall, stuck with the implements of her trade, consisting 
of rags, feathers, bones of cats, and a thousand other ar- 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 309 

them to believe her to be possessed of supernatural 
powers; and she then worked their imagination to 
what pitch and purpose she pleased. 

She was the chief instigator of this intended re¬ 
bellion. It was she who had stimulated the re¬ 
vengeful temper of Hector almost to phrensy. She 
now promised him that her arts should be exerted 
over his friend ; and it was not long before he felt 
their influence. Csesar soon perceived an extra¬ 
ordinary change in the countenance and manner 
of his beloved Clara. A melancholy hung over 
her, and she refused to impart to him the cause of 
her dejection. Csesar was indefatigable in his ex¬ 
ertions to cultivate and embellish the ground near 
his cottage, in hopes of making it an agreeable 
habitation for her; but she seemed to take no in¬ 
terest in any thing. She would stand beside him 
immoveable, in a deep revery; and when he in- 

ticles.**** The house was instantly pulled down; and, 
with the whole of its contents, committed to the flames, 
amid the general acclamations of all his other negroes.**** 
From the moment of her departure, his negroes seemed all 
to be animated with new spirits; and the malady spread no 
farther among them. The title of his losses, in the course 
of about fifteen years preceding the discovery, and im¬ 
putable solely to the Obeak 'practice, he estimates, at least, 
at one hundred negroes.” 


310 


POPULAR TALES. 


quired whether she was ill, she would answer no, 
and endeavour to assume an air of gayety : but 
this cheerfulness was transient; she soon relapsed 
into despondency. At length, she endeavoured to 
avoid her lover, as if she feared his further in¬ 
quiries. 

Unable to endure this state of suspense, he one 
evening resolved to bring her to an explanation. 
“ Clara,” said he, “ you once loved me: I have 
done nothing, have I, to forfeit your confidence ?” 

“ I once loved you !” said she, raising her lan¬ 
guid eyes, and looking at him with reproachful 
tenderness; “ and can you doubt my constancy ? 
Oh, Csesar, you little know what is passing in my 
heart! You are the cause of my melancholy !” 

She paused, and hesitated, as if afraid that she 
had said too much: but Csesar urged her with so 
much vehemence, and so much tenderness, to open 
to him her whole soul, that, at last, she could not 
resist his eloquence. She reluctantly revealed to 
him that secret of which she could not think with¬ 
out horror. She informed him that, unless he com¬ 
plied with what was required of him by the sor¬ 
ceress Esther, he was devoted to die. What it was 
that Esther required of him Clara knew not: she 
knew nothing of the conspiracy. The timidity of 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 


311 


her character was ill-suited to such a project; and 
every thing relating to it had been concealed from 
her with the utmost care. 

When she explained to Csesar the cause of her 
dejection, his natural courage resisted these super¬ 
stitious fears; and he endeavoured to raise Clara’s 
spirits. He endeavoured in vain: she fell at his 
feet, and with tears, and the most tender supplica¬ 
tions, conjured him to avert the wrath of the sor¬ 
ceress by obeying her commands whatever they 
might be. 

44 Clara,” replied he, “ you know not what you 
ask!” 

44 1 ask you to save your life!” said she. 44 1 ask 
you, for my sake, to save your life, while yet it is 
in your power!” 

44 But would you, to save my life, Clara, make 
me the worst of criminals? Would you make me 
the murderer of my benefactor?” 

Clara started with horror. 

44 Do you recollect the day, the moment, when 
we were on the point of being separated for ever, 
Clara ? Do you remember the white man’s coming 
to my cottage ? Do you remember his look of be¬ 
nevolence—his voice of compassion ? Do you re- 


312 


POPULAR TALES. 


member his generosity? Oh! Clara, would you 
make me the murderer of this man ?” 

“ Heaven forbid!” said Clara. “ This cannot be 
the will of the sorceress!” 

“ It is,” said Caesar. “ But she shall not succeed, 
even though she speaks with the voice of Clara. 
Urge me no further; my resolution is fixed. I 
should be unworthy of your love if I were capable 
of treachery and ingratitude.” 

“ But are there no means of averting the wrath 
of Esther ?” said Clara. “ Your life—” 

“ Think, first, of my honour,” interrupted Ccesar. 
“ Your fears deprive you of reason. Return to 
this sorceress, and tell her that I dread not her 
wrath. My hands shall never be imbrued in the 
blood of my benefactor. Clara! can you forget 
his look when he told us that we should never more 
be separated ?” 

“ It went to my heart,” said Clara, bursting into 
tears. “ Cruel, cruel Esther! Why do you com” 
mand us to destroy such a generous master ?” 

The conch sounded to summon the negroes to 
their morning’s work. It happened this day that 
Mr. Edwards, who was continually intent upon in¬ 
creasing the comforts and happiness of his slaves, 
sent his carpenter, while Ccesar was absent, to fit 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. * 313 

up the inside of his cottage; and when Csesar re¬ 
turned from work, he found his master pruning 
the branches of a tamarind-tree that overhung the 
thatch. “ How comes it, Csesar,” said he, “ that 
you have not pruned these branches ?” 

Csesar had no knife. “ Here is mine for you,” 
said Mr. Edwards. “ It is very sharp,” added he, 
smiling; “ but I am not one of those masters who 
are afraid to trust their negroes with sharp knives.” 

These words were spoken with perfect simplicity; 
Mr. Edwards had no suspicion, at this time, of 
what was passing in the negro’s mind. Csesar re¬ 
ceived the knife without uttering >a syllabic; but no 
sooner was Mr. Edwards out of sight than he knelt 
down, and, in a transport of gratitude, swore that, 
with this knife, he would stab himself to the heart 
sooner than betray his master. 

The principle of gratitude conquered every other 
sensation. The mind of Csesar was not insensible 
to the charms of freedom: he knew the negro 
conspirators had so taken their measures, that there 
was the greatest probability of their success. His 
heart beat high at the idea of recovering his liberty; 
but he was not to be seduced from his duty, not 
even by this delightful hope; nor was he to be in¬ 
timidated by the dreadful certainty that his former 
27 




314 POPULAR TALES. 

friends and countrymen, considering him as a de¬ 
serter from their cause, would become his bitterest 
enemies. The loss of Hector’s esteem and affec¬ 
tion was deeply felt by Caesar. Since the night 
that the decisive conversation relative to Mr. Ed¬ 
wards passed, Hector and he had never exchanged 
a syllable. 

This visit proved the cause of much suffering to 
Hector, and to several of the slaves on Jefferies’ 
plantation. We mentioned that Durant had been 
awakened by the raised voice of Hector. Though 
he could not find any one in the cottage, yet his 
suspicions were not dissipated; and an accident 
nearly brought the whole conspiracy to light. Du¬ 
rant had ordered one of the negroes to watch a 
boiler of sugar: the slave was overcome by the heat, 
and fainted. He had scarcely recovered his senses 
when the overseer came up, and found that the 
sugar had fermented, by having remained a few 
minutes too long in the boiler. He flew into a 
violent passion, and ordered that the negro should 
receive fifty lashes. His victim bore them without 
uttering a groan; but when his punishment was 
over, and when he thought the overseer was gone, 
he exclaimed, “ It will soon be our turn !” 

Durant was not out of hearing. He turned sud- 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 315 

denly, and observed that the negro looked at Hec¬ 
tor when he pronounced these words, and this 
confirmed the suspicion that Hector was carrying 
on some conspiracy. He immediately had recourse 
to that brutality which he considered as the only 
means of governing black men: Hector and three 
other negroes were lashed unmercifully,* but no 
confessions could be extorted. 

Mr. Jefferies might perhaps have forbidden such 
violence to be used, if he had not been at the time 
carousing with a party of jovial West Indians, who 
thought of nothing but indulging their appetites in 
all the luxuries that art and nature could supply. 
The sufferings which had been endured by many 
of the wretched negroes to furnish out this magni¬ 
ficent entertainment were never once thought of by 
these selfish epicures. Yet so false are the general 
estimates of character, that all these gentlemen 
passed for men of great feeling and generosity! 
The human mind, in certain situations, becomes so 
accustomed to ideas of tyranny and cruelty, that 
they no longer appear extraordinary or detestable; 
they rather seem part of the necessary and immu¬ 
table order of things. 

Mr. Jefferies was stopped, as he passed from his 
dining-room into his drawing-room, by a little 


316 


POPULAR TALES. 


negro child, of about five years old, who was cry¬ 
ing bitterly. He was the son of one of the slaves 
who were at this moment under the torturer’s hand. 
“ Poor little devil!” said Mr. Jefferies, who was 
more than half-intoxicated.' “ Take him away: 
and tell Durant, some of ye, to pardon his father— 
if he can.” 

The child ran eagerly to announce his father’s 
pardon; but he soon returned, crying more vio¬ 
lently than before. Durant would not hear the 
boy; and it was now no longer possible to appeal 
to Mr. Jefferies, for he was in the midst of an as¬ 
sembly of fair ladies ; and no servant belonging to 
the house dared to interrupt the festivities of the 
evening. The three men who were so severely 
flogged to extort from them confessions were per¬ 
fectly innocent: they knew nothing of the con¬ 
federacy ; but the rebels seized the moment when 
their minds were exasperated by this cruelty and 
injustice, and they easily persuaded them to join 
the league. The hope of revenging themselves 
upon the overseer was a motive sufficient to make 
them brave death in any shape. 

Another incident, which happened a few days 
before the time destined for the revolt of the 
slaves, determined numbers who had been unde- 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 


317 


cided. Mrs. Jefferies was a languid beauty or 
rather a languid fine lady who had been a beauty, 
and who spent all that part of the day which was 
not devoted to the pleasures of the table, or to re¬ 
clining on a couch, in dress. She was one day 
extended on a sofa, fanned by four slaves, two at 
her head and two at her feet, when news was 
brought that a large chest, directed to her, was 
just arrived from London. 

This chest contained various articles of dress of 
the newest fashions. The Jamaica ladies carry 
their ideas of magnificence to a high pitch: they 
willingly give a hundred guineas for a gown, 
which they perhaps wear but once or twice. In 
the elegance and variety of her ornaments Mrs. 
Jefferies was not exceeded by any lady in the 
island, except by one who had lately received a 
cargo from England. She now expected to out¬ 
shine her competitor, and desired that the chest 
should be unpacked in her presence. 

In taking out one of the gowns, it caught on a 
nail in the lid, and was torn. The lady, roused 
from her natural indolence by this disappointment 
to her vanity, instantly ordered that the unfortunate 
female slave should be severely chastised. The 
woman was the wife of Hector ; and this fresh in- 
27 * 


318 


POPULAR TALES. 


jury worked up his temper, naturally vindictive, 
to the highest point. He ardently longed for the 
moment when he might satiate his vengeance. 

The plan the negroes had laid was to set fire to 
the canes, at one and the same time, on every 
plantation; and when the white inhabitants of the 
island should run to put out the fire, the blacks were 
to seize this moment of confusion and consterna¬ 
tion to fall upon them, and make a general mas¬ 
sacre. The time when this scheme was to be 
carried into execution was not known to Ccesar; 
for the conspirators had changed their day as 
soon as Hector told them that his friend was no 
longer one of the confederacy. They dreaded he 
should betray them; and it was determined that 
he and Clara should both be destroyed, unless 
they could be prevailed upon to join the conspiracy. 

Hector wished to save his friend; but the desire 
of vengeance overcame every other feeling. He 
resolved, however, to make an attempt, for the last 
time, to change Caesar’s resolution. 

For this purpose, Esther was the person he em¬ 
ployed : she was to work upon his mind by means 
of Clara. On returning to her cottage one night, 
she found suspended from the thatch one of those 
strange fantastic charms with which the Indian 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 319 

sorceresses terrify those whom they have pro¬ 
scribed. Clara, unable to conquer her terror, 
repaired again to Esther, who received her first in 
mysterious silence: but after she had implored her 
forgiveness for the past, and with all possible hu¬ 
mility conjured her to grant her future protection, 
the sorceress deigned to speak. Her commands 
were that Clara should prevail upon her lover to 
meet her, on this awful spot, the ensuing night. 

Little suspecting what was going forward on the 
plantation of Jefferies, Mr. Edwards that evening 
gave his slaves a holyday. He and his family 
came out at sunset, when the fresh breeze had 
sprung up, and seated themselves under a spread¬ 
ing palm-tree, to enjoy the pleasing spectacle of 
this negro festival. His negroes were all well clad, 
and in the gayest colours, and their merry coun¬ 
tenances suited the gayety of their dress. While 
some were dancing, and some playing on the tam- 
barine, others appeared among the distant trees, 
bringing baskets of avocado pears, grapes, and 
pineapples, the produce of their own provision- 
grounds ; and others were employed in spreading 
their clean trenchers, or the calabashes which 
served for plates and dishes. The negroes con¬ 
tinued to dance and divert themselves till late in 


320 


POPULAR TALES. 


the evening. When they separated and retired to 
rest, Csesar, recollecting his promise to Clara, re¬ 
paired secretly to the habitation of the sorceress. 
It was situated in the recess of a thick wood. 
When he arrived there, he found the door fastened; 
and he was obliged to wait some time before it was 
opened by Esther. 

The first object he beheld was his beloved Clara, 
stretched on the ground, apparently a corpse! The 
sorceress had thrown her into a trance by a prepa¬ 
ration of deadly nightshade. The hag burst into 
an infernal laugh, when she beheld the despair that 
was painted in Csesar’s countenance. “ Wretch!” 
cried she, “ you have defied my power: behold its 
victim!” 

Caesar, in a transport of rage, seized her by the 
throat: but his fury was soon checked. 

“ Destroy me,” said the fiend, “ and you destroy 
your Clara. She is not dead; but she lies in the 
sleep of death, into which she has been thrown by 
magic art, and from which no power but mine can 
restore her to the light of life. Yes ! look at her, 
pale and motionless! Never will she rise from the 
earth, unless, within one hour, you obey my com¬ 
mands. I have administered to Hector and his 
companions the solemn fetish oath, at the sound of 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 321 

which every negro in Africa trembles ! You know 
my object?” 

“ Fiend, I do!” replied Caesar, eyeing her sternly ; 
“but while I have life it shall never be accom¬ 
plished.” 

“ Look yonder!” cried she, pointing to the moon: 
“ in a few minutes that moon will set: at that hour 
Hector and his friends will appear. They come 
armed—armed with weapons which I shall steep in 
poison for their enemies. Themselves I will ren¬ 
der invulnerable. Look again!” continued she: 
“ if my dim eyes mistake not, yonder they come. 
Rash man, you die if they cross my threshold.” 

“ I wish for death,” said Caesar. “ Clara is 
dead!” 

“ But you can restore her to life by a single word.” 

Caesar, at this moment, seemed to hesitate. 

“ Consider ! Your heroism is vain,” continued 
Esther. “ You will have the knives of fifty of the 
conspirators in your bosom if you do not join them; 
and, after you have fallen, the death of your mas¬ 
ter is inevitable. Here is the bowl of poison in 
which the negro knives are to be steeped. Your 
friends, your former friends, your countrymen, will 
be in arms in a few minutes: and they will bear 


322 


POPULAR TALES. 


down every thing before them—victory, wealth, 
freedom, and revenge will be theirs.” 

Caesar appeared to be more and more agitated. 
His eyes were fixed upon Clara. The conflict in 
his mind was violent; but his sense of gratitude 
and duty could not be shaken by hope, fear, or am¬ 
bition ; nor could it be vanquished by love. He 
determined, however, to appear to yield. As if 
struck with panic at the approach of the confede¬ 
rate negroes, he suddenly turned to the sorceress, 
and said, in a tone of feigned submission, “ It is in 
vain to struggle with fate. Let my knife, too, be 
dipped in your magic poison.’’ 

The sorceress clapped her hands, with infernal 
joy in her countenance. She bade him instantly 
give her his knife, that she might plunge it to the 
hilt in the bowl of poison, to which she turned with 
savage impatience. His knife was left in his cot¬ 
tage ; and, under pretence of going in search of it, 
he escaped. Esther promised to prepare Hector 
and all his companions to receive him with their 
ancient cordiality on his return. Csesar ran with 
the utmost speed along a by-path out of the wood, 
met none of the rebels, reached his master’s house, 
scaled the wall of his bedchamber, got in at the win¬ 
dow, and wakened him, exclaiming, “ Arm—arm 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 323 

yourself, my dear master! Arm all your slaves. 
They will fight for you, and die for you; as I wifi 
the first. The Koromantyn yell of war will be heard 
in Jefferies’ plantation this night! Arm—arm your¬ 
self, my dear master, and let us surround the rebel 
leaders while it is yet time. I will lead you to the 
place where they are all assembled, on condition, 
that their chief, who is my friend, shall be pardoned.” 

Mr. Edwards armed himself and the negroes on 
his plantation, as well as the whites : they were all 
equally attached to him. He followed Caesar into 
the recesses of the wood. 

They proceeded with all possible rapidity, but in 
perfect silence, till they reached Esther’s habitation; 
which they surrounded completely, before they 
were perceived by the conspirators. 

Mr. Edwards looked through a hole in the wall; 
and by the blue flame of a caldron, over which the 
sorceress was stretching her shrivelled hands, he 
saw Hector and five stout negroes standing, intent 
upon her incantations. These negroes held their 
knives in their hands, ready to dip them into the 
bowl of poison. It was proposed by one of the 
whites to set fire immediately to the hut; and thus to 
force the rebels to surrender. The advice was 
followed; but Mr. Edwards charged his people to 


324 


POPULAR TALES. 


spare their prisoners. The jnoment the rebels saw 
that the thatch of the hut was in flames, they set 
up the Koromantvn yell of war, and rushed out 
with frantic desperation. 

“ Yield! you are pardoned Hector,” cried Mr. 
Edwards, in a loud voice. 

“You are pardoned, my friend!” repeated 
Caesar. 

Hector, incapable at this instant of listening to 
any thing but revenge, sprang forwards, and plunged 
his knife into the bosom of Caesar. The faithful 
servant staggered back a few paces : his master 
caught him in his arms. “ I die content,” said he. 
“ Bury me with Clara.” 

He swooned from loss of blood as they were car¬ 
rying him home; but when his wound was. ex¬ 
amined, it was found not to be mortal. As he re¬ 
covered from his swoon he stared wildly round 
him, trying to recollect where he was, and what 
had happened. He thought that he was still in a 
dream when he saw his beloved Clara standing 
beside him. The opiate which the pretended sor¬ 
ceress had administered to her had ceased to ope¬ 
rate ; she awaked from her trance just at the time 
the Koromantyn yell commenced. Caesar’s joy! 
We must leave that to the imagination. 


THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 325 

In the mean time, what became of the rebel ne¬ 
groes and Mr. Edwards ? 

The taking the chief conspirators prisoners did 
not prevent the negroes upon Jefferies’ plantation 
from insurrection. The moment they heard the 
warwhoop, the signal agreed upon, they rose in a 
body; and before fhey could be prevented, either 
by the whites on the estate, or by Mr. Edwards’s 
adherents, they had set fire to the overseer’s house 
and to the canes. The overseer was the principal 
object of their vengeance—he died in tortures, in¬ 
flicted by the hands of those who had suffered most 
by his cruelties. Mr. Edwards, however, quelled 
the insurgents before rebellion spread to any other 
estates in the island. The influence of his cha¬ 
racter and the effect of his eloquence upon the minds 
of the people were astonishing; nothing but his in¬ 
terference could have prevented the total destruction 
of Mr. Jefferies and his family, who, as it was 
computed, lost this night upwards of fifty thousand 
pounds. He was never afterward able to recover 
his losses, or to shake off his constant fear of a 
fresh insurrection among his slaves. At length he 
and his lady returned to England, where they were 
obliged to live in obscurity and indigence. They 
28 


326 


POPULAR TALES. 


had no consolation in their misfortunes but that of 
railing at the treachery of the whole race of slaves. 
Our readers, we hope, will think that at least one 
exception may be made in favour of the grate¬ 
ful NEGRO. 


March, 1602. 


TO-MORROW. 


“Oh this detestable to-morrow !—a thing always ex* 
pected, yet never found.”—J ohnson. 


CHAPTER I. 

It has long been my intention to write my own 
history, and I am determined to begin it to-day; for 
half the good intentions of my life have been frus¬ 
trated by my unfortunate habit of putting things 
off till to-morrow. 

When I was a young man, I used to be told 
that this was my only fault: I believed it, and my 
vanity or laziness persuaded me that this fault was 
but small, and that I should easily cure myself of 
it in time. 

That time, however, has not yet arrived, and at 
my advanced age I must give up all thoughts of 
amendment, hoping, however, that sincere repent¬ 
ance may stand instead of reformation. 




328 


POTULAR TALES. 


My father was an eminent London bookseller; 
he happened to be looking over a new biographical 
dictionary on the day when I was brought into the 
world : and at the moment when my birth was an¬ 
nounced to him he had his finger upon the name 
Basil; he read aloud—“ Basil, canonized bishop 
of Caesarea, a theological, controversial, and moral 
writer.” 

“ My boy,” continued my father, “ shall be 
named after this great man, and I hope and be¬ 
lieve that I shall live to see him either a celebrated 
theological, controversial, and moral author, or a 
bishop. I am not so sanguine as to expect that he 
should be both these good things.” 

I was christened Basil according to my father’s 
wishes, and his hopes of my future celebrity and 
fortune were confirmed during my childhood, by 
instances of wit and memory which were not per¬ 
haps greater than what could have been found in 
my little contemporaries, but which appeared to the 
vanity of parental fondness extraordinary, if not 
supernatural. My father declared that it would be 
a sin not to give me a learned education, and he 
v/ent even beyond his means to procure for me all 
the advantages of the best modes of instruction. 
I was stimulated, even when a boy, by the idea 


TO-MORROW. 


329 


that I should become a great man, and my masters 
had for some time reason to be satisfied: but what 
they called the quickness of my parts continually 
retarded my progress. The facility with which I 
learned my lessons encouraged me to put off learn¬ 
ing them till the last moment; and this habit of 
procrastinating, which was begun in presumption, 
ended in disgrace. 

When I was sent to a public school, I found 
among my companions so many temptations to 
idleness, that notwithstanding the quickness of my 
parts, I was generally flogged twice a week. As 
I grew older, my reason might perhaps have taught 
me to correct myself, but my vanity was excited 
to persist in idleness by certain imprudent sayings 
or whisperings of my father. 

When I came home from school at the holy- 
days, and when complaints were preferred against 
me in letters from my schoolmaster, my father, 
even while he affected to scold me for my neg¬ 
ligence, flattered me in the most dangerous man¬ 
ner by adding —aside to some friend of the 
family—“ My Basil is a strange fellow!—can do 
any thing he pleases—all his masters say so—but 
he is a sad idle dog—all your men of genius are 
so—puts off business always to the last moment— 
28 * 


330 


POPULAR TALES. 


all your men of genius do so. For instance, there 

is-, whose third edition of odes I have just 

published—what an idle dog he is! Yet who makes 
such a noise in the world as he does ?—puts every 
thing off till to-morrow , like my Basil—but can do 
more at the last moment than any man in Eng¬ 
land—that is, if the fit seizes him—for he does 
nothing but by fits—has no application—none— 
says it would ‘ petrify him to a dunce.’ I never 
knew a man of genius who was not an idle dog.” 

Not a syllable of such speeches was lost upon 
me: the ideas of a man of genius and of an idle 
dog were soon so firmly joined together in my im¬ 
agination, that it was impossible to separate them, 
either by my own reason or by that of my pre¬ 
ceptors. I gloried in the very habits which my 
tutors laboured to correct; and I never was seri¬ 
ously mortified by the consequences of my own 
folly till, at a public examination at Eton I lost a 
premium by putting off till it was too late the fin¬ 
ishing a copy of verses. The lines which I had 
written were said by all my young and old friends 
to be beautiful. The prize was gained by one 
Johnson, a heavy lad, of no sort of genius, but of 
great perseverance. His verses were finished, 
however, at the stated time; 



TO-MORROW. 


331 


“For dulness ever must be regular!” 

My fragment, charming as it was, was useless, 
except to hand about afterward among my friends, 
to prove what I might have done if I had thought 
it worth while.. 

My father was extremely vexed by my missing 
an opportunity of distinguishing myself at this public 
exhibition, especially as the king had honoured the 
assembly with his presence; and as those who had 
gained premiums were presented to his majesty, it 
was supposed that their being thus early marked 
as lads of talents would be highly advantageous to 
their advancement in life. All this my father felt, 
and blaming himself for having encouraged me in 
the indolence of genius , he determined to coun¬ 
teract his former imprudence, and was resolved, he 
said, to cure me at once of my habit of procrasti¬ 
nation. For this purpose he took down from his 
shelves Young’s Night Thoughts ; fronn which he 
remembered a line, which has become a stock line 
among writing-masters’ copies: 

“ Procrastination is the thief of time.” 

He hunted the book for the words Procrastina¬ 
tion , Time , To-day , and To-morrow , and made an 
extract of seven long pages on the dangers of delay. 


332 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ Now, my dear Basil,” said he, “ this is whal 
will cure you for life, and this you must get per¬ 
fectly by heart, before I give you one shilling more 
pocket-money.” 

The motive was all-powerful, and with pains, 
iteration, and curses, I fixed the heterogenous quo¬ 
tations so well in my memory that some of them 
have remained there to this ddy. For instance— 

“ Time destroy’d 

Is suicide , where more than blood is spilt. 

Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heav’n invites, 

Hell threatens. 

We push Time from us, and we wish him back. 

Man flies from Time, and Time from man too soon; 

In sad divorce this double flight must end; 

And then where are we ? 

Be wise to-day, ’t is madness to defer, &c. 

Next day the fatal precedent will plead, &c. 

Lorenzo—0 for yesterdays to come ! 

To-day is yesterday return’d ; return’d, 

Full power’d to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn, 

And reinstate us on the rock of peace. 

Let it not share its predecessor’s fate, 

Nor, like its elder sisters, die a fool. 

Where shall I find him ? Angels! tell me where: 

You know him ; he is near you; point him out; 

Shall I see glories beaming from his brow ? 


TO-MORROW. 


333 


Or trace his footsteps by the rising flow’rs ? 

Your golden wings now hov’ring o’er him shed 

' Protection: now are wav’ring in applause 

To that blest son of foresight! Lord of fate ! 

That awful independent on to-morrow ! 

Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past; 

Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile.” 

I spare you the rest of my task, and I earnestly 
hope, my dear reader, that these citations may have 
a better effect upon you than they had upon me. 
With shame I confess that even with the addition 
of Shakspeare’s eloquent 

“ To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, &c.” 

which I learned by heart gratis, not a bit the better 
was I for all this poetical morality. What I wanted 
was, not conviction of my folly, but resolution to 
amend. 

When I say that I was not a bit the better for 
these documentings, I must not omit to observe to 
you that I was very near being four hundred pounds 
a year the better for them. 

Being obliged to learn so much of Young’s Night 
Thoughts by rote, I was rather disgusted, and my 
attention was roused to criticise the lines which had 
been forced upon my admiration. Afterward, when 
I went to college, I delighted to maintain in oppo- 


334 


Popular tales. 


sition to some of my companions, who were en¬ 
thusiastic admirers of Young, that he was no poet. 
The more I was ridiculed, the more I persisted. I 
talked myself into notice; I became acquainted 
with several of the literary men at Cambridge; I 
wrote in defence of my opinion, or, as some called 
it, my heresy. I maintained that what all the 
world had mistaken for sublimity was bombast; 
that the Night Thoughts were fuller of witty con¬ 
ceits than of poetical images: I drew a parallel 
between Young and Cowley; and I finished by pro¬ 
nouncing Young to be the Cowley of the eighteenth 
century. To do myself justice, there was much 
ingenuity and some truth in my essay ; but it was 
the declamation of a partisan who can think only 
on one side of a question, and who, in the heat of 
controversy, says more than he thinks, and more 
than he originally intended. 

It is often the fortune of literary partisans to ob¬ 
tain a share of temporary celebrity far beyond their 
deserts, especially if they attack any writer of es¬ 
tablished reputation. The success of my essay ex¬ 
ceeded my most sanguine expectations, and I began 
to think that my father was right,—that I was born 
to be a great genius, and a great man. The notice 
taken of me by a learned prelate, who piqued him- 


TO-MORROW. 


335 


self upon being considered as the patron of young 
men of talents, confirmed me at once in my self- 
conceit and my hopes of preferment. 

I mentioned to you that my father, in honour of 
my namesake Basil, bishop of Caesarea, and to ve¬ 
rify his own presentiments , had educated me for 
the church. My present patron, who seemed to like 
me the better the oftener I dined with him, gave 
me reason to hope that he would provide for me 
handsomely. I was not yet ordained, when a 
living of four hundred per annum fell into his gift: 
he held it over for some months, as it was thought, 
on purpose for me. 

In the mean time he employed me to write a 
charity sermon for him, which he was to preach, 
as it was expected, to a crowded congregation. 
None but those who are themselves slaves to the 
habit of procrastination will believe that I could be 
so foolish as to put off writing this sermon till the 
Saturday evening before it was wanted. Some of 
my young companions came unexpectedly to sup 
with me; we sat late: in the vanity of a young 
author, who glories in the rapidity of composition, 

I said to myself that I could finish my sermon in 
an hour’s time. But, alas ! when my companions 
at length departed, they left me in no condition to 


336 


POPULAR TALES. 


complete a sermon. I fell fast asleep, and was 
waked in the morning by the bishop’s servant. The 
dismay I felt is indescribable ; I started up—it was 
nine o’clock: I began to write ; but my hand and 
my mind trembled, and my ideas were in such 
confusion that I could not, great genius as I was, 
produce a beginning sentence in a quarter of an 
hour. 

I kept the bishop’s servant forty minutes by his 
watch ; wrote and rewrote two pages, and walked 
up and dowrn the room ; tore my two pages ; and 
at last, when the footman said he could wait no 
longer, was obliged to let him go with an awkward 
note, pleading sudden sickness for my apology. It 
was true that I was sufficiently sick at the time 
when I penned this note ; my head ached terribly ; 
and I kept my room, reflecting upon my own folly, 
the whole of the day. I foresaw the consequences ; 
the living was given away by my patron the next 
morning, and all hopes of future favour were ab¬ 
solutely at an end. 

My father overwhelmed me with reproaches ; 
and I might perhaps have been reformed by this 
disappointment; but an unexpected piece of good 
fortune, or what I then thought good fortune, was 
my ruin. 


. 


■ 





Croon* 


lUimmmmii! 


imniiiiniDimiiiimiinuninni 









































































































































































































































































TO-MORROW. 


337 


Among the multitude of my college-friends was 
a young gentleman, whose father was just appoint¬ 
ed to go out upon the famous embassy to China ; 
he came to our shop to buy Du Halde ; and upon 
hearing me express an enthusiastic desire to visit 
China, he undertook to appfy to his father to take 
me in the ambassador’s suite. His representation 
of me as a young man of talents and literature, and 
the view of some botanical drawings, which I exe¬ 
cuted upon the spur of the occasion with tolerable 
neatness, procured me the favour which I so ar¬ 
dently desired. 

My father objected to my taking this voyage. 
He was vexed to see me quit the profession for 
which I had been educated ; and he could not, 
without a severe struggle, relinquish his hopes of 
seeing me a bishop. But I argued that, as I had 
not yet been ordained, there could be no disgrace 
or impropriety in my avoiding a mode of life which 
was not suited to my genius. This word genius 
had now, as upon all other occasions, a mighty 
effect upon my father; and observing this, I de¬ 
clared further, in a high tone of voice, that from the 
experience I had already had, I was perfectly certain 
that the drudgery of sermon-writing would paralyze 
my genius ; and that, to expand and invigorate my 
29 


338 


POPULAR TALES. 


intellectual powers, it was absolutely necessary that 
I should, to use a great author’s expression, “ view 
in foreign countries varied modes of existence.” 

My father’s hopes that one-half of his prophecy 
would at last be accomplished, and that I should 
become a great author, revived; and he consented 
to my going to China, upon condition that I should 
promise to write a history of my voyage and 
journey, in two volumes octavo, or one quarto, 
with a folio of plates. This promise was readily 
made; for in the plentitude of confidence in my 
own powers, octavos and quartos shrank before 
me, and a folio appeared too small for the various 
information, and the useful reflections, which a 
voyage to China must supply. 

Full of expectations and projects, I talked from 
morning till night of my journey: but notwith¬ 
standing my father’s hourly remonstrances, I de¬ 
ferred my preparations till the last week. Then 
all was hurry and confusion; tailors and seam¬ 
stresses, portmanteaus and trunks, portfolios and 
drawing-books, water-colours, crayones, and note¬ 
books wet from the stationer’s, crowded my room. 
I had a dozen small note-books, and a huge com¬ 
monplace-book, which was to be divided and kept 


TO-MORROW. 339 

in the manner recommended by the judicious and 
i. lortal Locke. 

In the midst of the last day’s bustle, I sat down 
at the corner of a table with compass, ruler, and 
red ink, to divide and rule my best of all possible 
commonplace-books ; but the red ink was too thin, 
and the paper was not well sized, and it blotted 
continually, because I was obliged to turn over the 
pages rapidly : and ink will not dry, nor blotting- 
paper suck it up, more quickly for a genius than 
for any other man. Besides, my attention was 
much distracted by the fear that the seamstress 
would not send home my dozen of new shirts, and 
that a vile procrastinating boot-maker would never 
come with my boots. Every rap at the door I 
started up to inquire whether that was the shirts, 
or the boots; thrice I overturned the red and twice 
the black ink bottles by these starts ; and the exe¬ 
crations which I bestowed upon those tradespeople 
who will put off every thing to the last moment 
were innumerable. I had orders to set off in the 
mail-coach for Portsmouth, to join the rest of the 
ambassador’s suite. 

The provoking watchman cried “ Past eleven 
o’clock” before I had half-finished ruling my com¬ 
monplace-book ; my shirts and my boots were not 


340 


POPULAR TALES. 


come; the mail-coach, as you may guess, set off 
without me. My poor father was in a terrible 
tremor, and walked from room to room, reproach¬ 
ing me and himself; but I persisted in repeat¬ 
ing that Lord M. would not set out the day he had 
intended; that nobody since the creation of the 
world, ever set out upon a long journey the day 
he first appointed: besides, there were at least a 
hundred chances in my favour that his lordship 
would break down on his way to Portsmouth; that 
the wind would not be fair when he arrived there; 
that half the people in his suite would not be more 
punctual than myself, &c. 

By these arguments, or by mere dint of asser¬ 
tion, I quieted my father’s apprehensions and my 
own, and we agreed that, as it was now impossible 
to go to-day, it was best to stay till to-morrow. 

Upon my arrival at Portsmouth, the first thing I 
heard was that the Lion and Hindostan had sailed, 
some hours before, with the embassy for China. 
Despair deprived me of utterance. A charitable 
waiter at the inn, however, seeing my consterna¬ 
tion and absolute inability to think or act for my¬ 
self, ran to make further inquiries, and brought me 
back the joyful tidings that the Jackal brig, which 
was to carry out the remainder of the ambassador’s 


TO-MORROW. 


341 


suite, was not yet under way; that a gentleman, 
who was to go in the Jackal, had dined at an hotel 
in the next street, and that he had gone to the 
water-side but ten minutes ago. 

I hurried after him : the boat was gone. I paid 
another exorbitantly to take me and my goods to 
the brig, and reached the Jackal just as she was 
weighing anchor. Bad education for me! The 
moment I felt myself safe on board, having re¬ 
covered breath to speak, I exclaimed, “ Here am I, 
safe and sound! just as well as if I had been here 
yesterday; better indeed. Oh, after this, I shall 
always trust to my own good fortune. I knew I 
should not be too late.” 

When I came to reflect coolly, however, I was 
rather sorry that I had missed my passage in the 
Lion, with my friend and protector, and with most 
of the learned and ingenious men of the ambassa¬ 
dor’s suite, to whom 1 had been introduced, and 
who had seemed favourably disposed towards me. 
All the advantage I might have derived from their 

o o 

conversation, during this long voyage, was lost by 
my own negligence. The Jackal lost company of 
the Lion and Hindostan in the Channel. As my 
friends afterward told me, they waited for us five 
days in Praya Bay: but as no Jackal appeared, 
29 * 


342 


POPULAR TALES. 


they sailed again without her. At length, to our 
great joy, we descried on the beach of Sumatra 
a board nailed to a post, which our friends had set 
up there, with a written notice to inform us that the 
Lion and Hindostan had touched on this shore on 
such a day, and to point out to us the course that 
we should keep in order to join them. 

At the sight of this writing my spirits revived: 
the wind favoured us; but, alas! in passing the 
Straits of Banka, we were damaged so that we 
were obliged to return to port to refit, and take in 
fresh provision. Not a soul on board but wished 
it had been their fate to have had a berth in the 
other ships; and I more loudly than any one else 
expressed this wish twenty times a day. When 
my companions heard that I was to have sailed in 
the ambassador’s ship, if I had been time enough 
at Spithead, some pitied and some rallied me: but 
most said I deserved to be punished for my negli¬ 
gence. At length we joined the Lion and Hin¬ 
dostan at North Island. Our friends had quite 
given up all hopes of ever seeing us again, and had 
actually bought at Batavia a French brig, to supply 
the place of the Jackal. To my great satisfaction, 
I was now received on board the Lion, and had an 
opportunity of conversing with the men of litera- 


TO-MORROW. 


343 


ture and science, from whom I had been .50 un¬ 
luckily separated during the former part of the 
voyage. Their conversation soon revived and in¬ 
creased my regret, when they told me of all that I 
had missed seeing at the various places where they 
had touched; they talked to me with provoking 
fluency of the culture of manioc, of the root of 
cassada, of which tapioca is made; of the shrub 
called the cactus, on which the cochineal insect 
swarms and feeds; and of the ipecacuanha-plant; 
all which they had seen at Rio Janeiro, besides 
eight paintings representing the manner in which 
the diamond and gold mines in the Brazils are 
worked. Indeed, upon cross-examination, I found 
that these pictures were miserably executed, and 
scarcely worth seeing. 

I regretted more the fine pineapples, which my 
companions assured me were in such abundance 
that they cleaned their swords in them, as being 
the cheapest acid that could be there procured. 
But, far beyond these vulgar objects of curiosity, I 
regretted not having learned any thing concerning 
the celebrated upas-tree. I was persuaded that, if 
I had been at Batavia, I should have extracted 
some information more precise than these gentle- 


344 


POPULAR TALES. 


men obtained from the keepers of the medical 
garden. 

I confess that my mortification at this disap¬ 
pointment did not arise solely from the pure love 
of natural history : the upas-tree would have made 
a conspicuous figure in my quarto volume. I con¬ 
soled myself, however, by the determination to omit 
nothing that the vast empire of China could afford 
to render my work entertaining, instructive, inte¬ 
resting, and sublime. I anticipated the pride with 
which I should receive the compliments of my 
friends and the public upon my valuable and in¬ 
comparable work; I anticipated the pleasure with 
which my father would exult in the celebrity of his 
son, and in the accomplishment of his own pro¬ 
phecies ; and, with these thoughts full in my mind, 
we landed at Mettow, in China. 

I sat up late at night writing a sketch of my 
preface and notes for the heads of chapters. I was 
tired, fell into a profound sleep, dreamed I was 
teaching the emperor of China to pronounce “chro- 
nonhotonthologos,” and in the morning was waked 
by the sound of the gong,—the signal that the ac¬ 
commodation junks were ready to sail with the 
embassy to Pekin. I hurried on my clothes, and 
was in the junk before the gong had done beating. 


TO-MORROW. 


345 


I gloried in my celerity ; but before we had gone 
two leagues up the country, I found reason to re¬ 
pent of my precipitation: I wanted to note down 
my first impressions on entering the Chinese ter¬ 
ritories ; but, alas! I felt in vain in my pocket for 
my pencil and note-book: I had left them both be¬ 
hind me on my bed. Not only one note-book, but 
my whole dozen; which, on leaving London, I had 
stuffed into a bag with my night-gown. Bag, 
night-gown, note-books, all were forgotten! 

However trifling it may appear, this loss of the 
little note-books was of material consequence. To 
be sure, it was easy to procure paper and make 
others; but, because it was so easy, it was delayed 
from hour to hour, and from day to day; and I 
went on writing my most important remarks on 
scraps of paper, which were always to be copied 
to-morrow into a note-book that was then to be 
made. 

We arrived at Pekin, and were magnificently 
lodged in a palace in that city ; but here we were 
so strictly guarded that we could not stir beyond 
the courts of the palace. You will say that in this 
confinement I had leisure sufficient to make a note¬ 
book, and to copy my notes: so I had, and it was 
my firm intention so to have done; but I put it off* 


346 


POPULAR TALES. 


because I thought it would take up but a few hours* 
time, and it could be done any day. Besides, the 
weather was so excessively hot, that for the first 
week I could do nothing but unbutton my waist¬ 
coat and drink sherbet. Visits of ceremony from 
mandarins took up much of our time: they spoke 
and moved like machines; and it was with much 
difficulty that our interpreter made us understand 
the meaning of their formal sentences, which were 
seldom worth the trouble of deciphering. We saw 
them fan themselves, drink tea, eat sweetmeats and 
rice, and chew betel; but it was scarcely worth 
while to come all the way from Europe to see this, 
especially as any common Chinese paper or screen 
would give an adequate idea of these figures in 
their accustomed attitudes. 

I spent another week in railing at these abomi¬ 
nably stupid or unnecessarily cautious creatures of 
ceremony, and made memorandums for an eloquent 
chapter in my work. 

One morning we were agreeably surprised by u 
visit from a mandarin of a very different descrip¬ 
tion. We were astonished to hear a person in the 
habit of a Chinese, and bearing the title of a man¬ 
darin, address us in French: he informed us that 
he was originally a French jesuit, and came over 


TO-MORROW. 


347 


to China with several missionaries from Paris; but 
as they were prohibited from promulgating their 
doctrines in this country, most of them had returned 
to France; a few remained, assumed the dress and 
manners of the country, and had been elevated to 
the rank of mandarins as a reward for their learn¬ 
ing. The conversation of our Chinese jesuit was 
extremely entertaining and instructive ; he was de¬ 
lighted to hear news from Europe, and we were 
eager to obtain from him information respecting 
China. I paid particular attention to him, and I was 
so fortunate as to win his confidence, as far as the 
confidence of a jesuit can be won. He came fre¬ 
quently to visit me, and did me the honour to spend 
some hours in my apartment. 

As he made it understood that these were literary 
visits, and as his character for propriety was well 
established with the government, he excited no 
suspicion, and we spent our time most delightfully 
between books and conversation. He gave me, 
by his anecdotes and descriptions, an insight into 
the characters and domestic lives of the inhabitants 
of Pekin, which I could not otherwise have obtained; 
his talent for description was admirable, and his 
characters were so new to me that I was in con¬ 
tinual ecstasy. I called him the Chinese La 


348 


POPULAR TALES. 


Bruyere; and, anticipating the figure which his por¬ 
traits would make in my future work, thought that 
I could never sufficiently applaud his eloquence. He 
was glad to lay aside the solemn gravity of a 
Chinese mandarin, and to indulge the vivacity of a 
Frenchman; his vanity was gratified by my praises, 
and he exerted himself to the utmost to enhance 
my opinion of his talents. 

At length we had notice that it was the em¬ 
peror’s pleasure to receive the embassy at his im¬ 
perial residence in Tartary, at Jehol; the seat of 
grateful coolness , the garden of innumerable trees. 
From the very name of this place I argued that it 
would prove favourable to the inspirations of genius, 
and determined to date at least one of the chapters 
or letters of my future work from this delightful 
retreat, the Sans Souci of China. Full of this in¬ 
tention, I set out upon our expedition into Tartary. 

My good friend the jesuit, who had a petition to 
present to the emperor relative to some Chinese 
manuscripts, determined, to my infinite satisfaction, 
to accompany us to Jehol ; and our conducting 
mandarin, Van Tadge, arranged things so upon 
our journey that I enjoyed as much of my friend’s 
conversation as possible. Never European travel¬ 
ling in these countries had such advantages as mine; 


TO-MORROW. 


349 


I had a companion who was able and willing to in¬ 
struct me in every minute particular of the man¬ 
ners, and every general principle of the government 
and policy of the people. I was in no danger of 
falling into the ridiculous mistakes of travellers, 
who, having but a partial view of things and per¬ 
sons, argue absurdly, and grossly misrepresent, 
while they intend to be accurate. Many people, 
as my French mandarin observed, reason like Vol¬ 
taire’s famous traveller, who, happening to have a 
drunken landlord and a red-haired landlady at the 
first inn where he stopped in Alsace, wrote down 
among his memorandums, “ All the men of Alsace 
drunkards: all the women red-haired.” 

When we arrived at Jehol, the hurry of prepa¬ 
ring for our presentation to the emperor, the want 
of a convenient writing-table, and perhaps my 
habit of procrastination, prevented my writing the 
chapter for n^ future work, or noting down any 
of the remarks which the jesuit had made upon 
our journey. One morning, when I collected my 
papers and scraps of memorandums with which 
the pockets of all my clothes were stuffed, I was 
quite terrified at the heap of confusion, and thrust 
all these materials for my quarto into a canvass 
bag, purposing to lay them smooth in a portfolio 
30 


350 


POPULAR TALES. 


the next day. But the next day I could do nothing 
of this sort, for we had the British presents to un¬ 
pack, which had arrived from Pekin ; the day after 
was taken up with our presentation to the emperor; 
and the day after that I had a new scheme in my 
head. The emperor, with much solemnity, pre¬ 
sented with his own hand, to our ambassador, a 
casket, which he said was the most valuable present 
he could make to the King of England; it con¬ 
tained the miniature pictures of the emperor’s an¬ 
cestors, with a few lines of poetry annexed to each, 
describing the character, and recording the prin¬ 
cipal events of each monarch’s reign. It occurred 
to me that a set of similar portraits and poetical 
histories of the kings of England would be a pro¬ 
per and agreeable offering to the Emperor of China; 
I consulted my friend the French mandarin, and 
he encouraged me by assurances that, as far as he 
could pretend to judge, it would be a present pe¬ 
culiarly suited to the emperor’s taste; and that in 
all probability I should be distinguished by some 
mark of his approbation, or some munificent re¬ 
ward. My friend promised to have the miniatures 
varnished for me in the Chinese taste; and he un¬ 
dertook to present the work to the emperor when 
it should be finished. As it was supposed that the 



TO-MORROW. 


351 


embassy would spend the whole winter in Pekin, I 
thought that I should have time enough to com¬ 
plete the whole series of British sovereigns. It 
was not necessary to be very scrupulous as to the 
resemblance of my portraits, as the Emperor of 
China could not easily detect any errors of this 
nature: fortunately, I had brought from London 
with me striking likenesses of all the kings of 
England, with the principal events of their reign, 
in one large sheet of paper, which belonged to a 
joining-map of one of my little cousins. In the 
confusion of my packing up I had put it into my 
trunk instead of a sheet almanac, which lay on the 
same table. In the course of my life many lucky 
accidents have happened to me even in consequence 
of my own carelessness ; yet that carelessness has 
afterward prevented my reaping any permanent 
advantage from my good fortune. 

Upon this occasion I was, however, determined 
that no laziness of mine should deprive me of an 
opportunity of making my fortune: I set to work 
immediately, and astonished my friend by the fa¬ 
cility with which I made verses. It was my cus¬ 
tom to retire from the noisy apartments of cm* 
palace to a sort of alcove, at the end of a long 
gallery in one of the outer courts, where our corps 


352 


POPULAR TALES. 


of artillery used to parade. After their parade 
was over, the place was perfectly quiet and solitary 
for the remainder of the day and night. I used to 
sit up late, writing; and one fine moonlight night 
I went out of my alcove to walk in the gallery, 
while I composed some lines to our great Queen 
Elizabeth. I could not finish the last couplet to 
my fancy: I sat down upon an artificial rock 
which was in the middle of the court, leaned my 
head upon my hand, and, as I was searching for 
an appropriate rhyme to glory , fell fast asleep. A 
noise like that of a most violent clap of thunder 
awakened me; I was thrown with my face flat 
upon the ground. 

When I recovered my senses the court was 
filled with persons, some Europeans, some Chinese, 
seemingly just risen from their beds, with lanterns 
and torches in their hands; all of them, with 
faces of consternation, asking one another what 
had happened? The ground was covered with 
scattered fragments of wooden pillars, mats, and 
bamboo cane-work; I looked and saw that one end 
of the gallery in which I had been walking and 
the alcove were in ruins. There was a strong 
smell of gunpowder. I now recollected that I had 
borrowed a powder-horn from one of the soldiers 


TO-MORROW. 


353 


in the morning; and that I had intended to load 
my pistols, but I delayed doing so. The horn, 
full of gunpowder, lay upon the table in the alcove 
all day, and the pistols, out of which I had shaken 
the old priming. When I went out to walk in the 
gallery I left the candle burning; and I suppose 
during my sleep a spark fell upon the loose gun¬ 
powder, set fire to that in the horn, and blew up 
the alcove. It was built of light wood and cane, 
and communicated only with a cane-work gallery, 
otherwise the mischief would have been more 
serious. As it was, the explosion had alarmed, 
not only all the ambassador’s suit who lodged in 
the palace, but many of the Chinese in the neigh¬ 
bourhood, who could not be made to comprehend 
how the accident had happened. 

Reproaches from all our own people were poured 
upon me without mercy; and in the midst of my 
contrition I had not for some time leisure to lament 
the loss of all my kings of England: no vestige 
of them remained; and all the labour that I had 
bestowed upon their portraits and their poetical 
histories was lost to the Emperor of China and to 
myself. What was still worse, I could not even 
utter a syllable of complaint, for nobody would sym¬ 
pathize with me, all my companions were so much 
30 * 


354 


POPULAR TALES. 


provoked by my negligence, and so apprehensive 
of the bad consequences which might ensue from 
this accident. The Chinese, who had been alarmed, 
and who departed evidently dissatisfied, would cer¬ 
tainly mention what had happened to the mandarins 
of the city; and they would report it to the em¬ 
peror. 

I resolved to apply for advice to my friend the 
jesuit; but he increased instead of diminishing our 
apprehensions: he said that the affair was much 
talked of and misrepresented at Jehol; and that 
the Chinese, naturally timid, and suspicious of 
strangers, could not believe that no injury was in¬ 
tended to them, and that the explosion was ac¬ 
cidental. A child had been wounded by the fall 
of some of the ruins of the alcove, which were 
thrown with great violence into a neighbouring 
house : the butt-end of one of my pistols was found 
in the street, and had been carried to the magistrate 
by the enraged populace, as evidence of our evil 
designs. My jesuit observed to me that there was 
no possibility of reasoning with the prejudices of 
any nation ; and he confessed he expected that this 
unlucky accident would have the most serious con¬ 
sequences. He had told me in confidence a cir¬ 
cumstance that tended much to confirm this opinion: 


TO-MORROW. 


355 


a few days before, when the emperor went to exa¬ 
mine the British presents of artillery, and when 
the brass mortars were tried, though he admired 
the ingenuity of these instruments of destruction, 
yet he said that he deprecated the spirit of the 
people who employed them; and could not re¬ 
concile their improvements in the arts oT war with 
the mild precepts of the religion which they pro¬ 
fessed. 

My friend the mandarin promised he would do 
all in his power to make the exact truth known to 
the emperor; and to prevent the evil impressions 
which the prejudices of the populace, and perhaps 
the designing misrepresentations of the city man¬ 
darins, might tend to create. I must suppose that 
the good offices of my jesuit were ineffectual, and 
that he either received a positive order to interfere 
no more in our affairs, or that he was afraid of 
being implicated in our disgrace if he continued his 
intimacy with me, for this was the last visit 1 ever 
received from him. 


356 


POPULAR TALES. 


CHAPTER II. 

In a few days the embassy had orders to return 
to Pekin. The ambassador’s palace was fitted up 
for his winter’s residence; and after our arrival he 
was arranging his establishment, when, by a fresh 
mandate from the emperor, we were required to 
prepare with all possible expedition for our de¬ 
parture from the Chinese dominions. On Monday 
we received an order to leave Pekin the ensuing 
Wednesday; and all our remonstrances could pro¬ 
cure only a delay of two days. Various causes 
were assigned for this peremptory order, and among 
the rest my unlucky accident was mentioned. 
However improbable it might seem that such a 
trifle could have had so great an effect, the idea 
was credited by many of my companions; and I 
saw that I was looked upon with an evil eye. 

I suffered extremely. I have often observed, 
that even remorse for my past negligence has 
tended to increase the original defect of my cha¬ 
racter. During our whole journey from Pekin to 
Canton, my sorrow for the late accident was an 
excuse to myself for neglecting to make either notes 


TO-MORROW. 


357 


or observations. When we arrived at Canton my 
time was taken up with certain commissions for 
my friends at home, which I had delayed to exe¬ 
cute while at Pekin, from the idea that we should 
spend the whole winter there. The trunks were 
on board before all my commissions were ready, 
and I was obliged to pack up several toys and other 
articles in a basket. As to my papers, they still 
remained in the canvass bag into which I had 
stuffed them at Jehol: but I was certain of having 
leisure during our voyage home to arrange them, 
and to post my notes into Locke’s commonplace- 
book. 

At the beginning of the voyage, however, I suf¬ 
fered much from sea-sickness : towards the middle 
of the time I grew better, and indulged myself in 
the amusement of fishing, while the weather was 
fine: when the weather was not inviting, in idle¬ 
ness. Innumerable other petty causes of delay 
occurred: there was so much eating and drinking, 
so much singing and laughing, and such frequent 
card-playing in the cabin, that though I produced 
my canvass bag above a hundred times, I never 
could accomplish sorting its contents: indeed, I 
seldom proceeded further than to untie the strings. 

One day I had the state cabin fairly to myself, and 


358 


POPULAR TALES. 


had really begun my work, when the stew ard came 
to let me know that my Chinese basket was just 
washed overboard. In this basket were all the 
presents and commissions which I had bought at 
Canton for my friends at home. I ran to the cabin 
window, and had the mortification to see all my 
beautiful scarlet calabash boxes, the fan for my 
cousin Lucy, and the variety of toys which I had 
bought for my little cousins, all floating on the sea 
far out of my reach. I had been warned before 
that the basket would be washed overboard, and 
had intended to put it into a safe place; but un¬ 
luckily I delayed to do so. 

I was so much vexed with this accident that I 
could not go on with my writing: if it had not been 
for this interruption, I do believe I should that day 
have accomplished my long-postponed task. I 
will not, indeed I cannot, record all the minute 
causes which afterward prevented my executing 
my intentions. The papers were still in the same 
disorder, stuffed into the canvass bag, when I ar¬ 
rived in England. I promised myself that I 
would sort them the very day after I got home: 
but visifs of congratulation from my friends upon 
my return induced me to delay doing any thing for 
the first week. The succeeding week I had a mul- 


TO-MORROW. 


359 


tiplicity of engagements: all my acquaintance, 
curious to hear a man converse who was fresh from 
China, invited me to dinner and tea parties ; and I 
could not possibly refuse these kind invitations, 
and shut myself up in my room, like a hackney 
author, to write. My father often urged me to 
begin my quarto; for he knew that other gentlemen 
who went out with the embassy designed to write 
the history of the voyage; and he, being a book¬ 
seller, and used to the ways of authors, foresaw 
what would happen. A fortnight after we came 
home the following advertisement appeared in the 
papers :—“ Now in the press, and speedily will be 
published, a Narrative of the British Embassy to 
China, containing the various Circumstances of thp 
Embassy; with Accounts of the Customs and Man¬ 
ners of the Chinese ; and a Description of the 
Country, Towns, Cities, &c.” 

I never saw my poor father turn so pale or look 
so angry as when he saw this advertisement: he 
handed it across the breakfast-table to me. 

“ There, Basil,” cried he, “ I told you what 
would happen, and you would not believe me. But 
this is the way you have served me all your life, 
and this is the way you will go on to the day of 
your death, putting things off till to-morrow. This 


360 


POPULAR TALES. 


is the way you have lost every opportunity of dis¬ 
tinguishing yourself; every chance, and you have 
had many, of advancing yourself in the world ! 
What signifies all I have done for you, or all you 
can do for yourself? Your genius and education 
are of no manner of use. Why, there is that heavy 
dog, as you used to call him at Eton, Johnson; 
look how he is getting on in the world, by mere 
dint of application and sticking steadily to his pro¬ 
fession. He will beat you at every thing, as he 
beat you at Eton in writing verses.” 

“ Only in copying them, sir. My verses, every¬ 
body said, were far better than his ; only, unluck¬ 
ily, I had not mine finished and copied out in 
time.” 

“ Well, sir, and that is the very thing I complain 
of. I suppose you will tell me that your Voyage 
to China will be far better than this which is ad¬ 
vertised this morning.” 

“ To be sure it will, father ; for I have had op¬ 
portunities, and collected materials, which this man, 
whoever he is, cannot possibly have obtained. I 
have had such assistance, such information from 
my friend the missionary—” 

“ But what signifies your missionary, your in¬ 
formation, your abilities, and your materials ?” cried 


TO-MORROW. 


361 


my father, raising his voice. “ Your book is not 
out, your book will never be finished; or it will be 
done too late, and nobody will read it; and then 
you may throw it into the fire. Here you have an 
opportunity of establishing your fame, and making 
yourself a great author at once; and if you throw 
it away, Basil, I give you fair notice, I never will 
pardon you.” 

I promised my father that I would set about my 
work to-morrow ; and pacified him by repeating 
that this hasty publication, which had just been ad¬ 
vertised, must be a catchpenny, and that it would 
serve only to stimulate instead of satisfying the 
public curiosity. My quarto, I said, would appear 
afterward with a much better grace, and would be 
sought for by every person of science, taste, and 
literature. 

Soothed by these assurances, my father recover¬ 
ed his good-humour, and trusted to my promise 
that I would commence my great work the ensuing 
day. I was fully in earnest. I went to my can¬ 
vass bag to prepare my materials. Alas, I found 
them in a terrible condition! The seawater some¬ 
how or other, had got to them during the voyage ,* 
and many of my most precious documents were 
absolutely illegible. The notes, written in pencil, 
31 


362 


POPULAR TALES. 


were almost effaced, and, when I had smoothed the 
crumpled scraps, I could make nothing of them. 
It was with the utmost difficulty I could read even 
those that were written in ink; they were so vil- 
lanously scrawled and so terribly blotted. When 
I had made out the words, I was often at a loss for 
the sense; because I had trusted so much to the 
excellence of my memory, that my notes were 
never sufficiently full or accurate. Ideas which I 
had thought could never be effaced from my mind 
were now totally forgotten, and I could not com¬ 
prehend my own mysterious elliptical hints and 
memorandums. I remember spending two hours 
in trying to make out what the following words 
could mean: Hoy — alia—hoy a; — hoya , lioya ,— 
hoy — waudihoya. 

At last, I recollected that they were merely the 
sounds of the words used by the Chinese sailors in 
towing the junks, and I was much provoked at 
having wasted my time in trying to remember what 
was not worth recording. Another day I was 
puzzled by the following memorandum: “ W: C : 
30. f. h.—24 b.—120 m—1—mandarin—C. tradi¬ 
tion—2000—200 before J. C.”—which, after three- 
quarters of an hour’s study, I discovered to mean 
that the wall of China is 30 feet high, 24 feet broad, 


TO-MORROW. 


363 


and 120 miles long; and that a mandarin told me, 
that, according to Chinese tradition, this wall had 
been built above 2000 years, that is, 200 before the 
birth of our Saviour. 

On another scrap of paper, at the very bottom 
of the bag, I found the words, “ Wheazou—Chan- 
chin— Cuaboocow—Caungchumfoa-Callachottueng 
Quanshanglin— Callachotre shansu,” &c.; all 
which I found to be a list of towns and villages 
through which we had passed, or places that we 
had seen ; but how to distinguish these asunder I 
knew not, for all recollection of them was obliterated 
from my mind, and no further notes respecting 
them were to be found. 

After many days tiresome attempts, I was obliged 
to give up all hopes of deciphering the most impor¬ 
tant of my notes,—those which I had made from 
the information of the French missionary. Most 
of what I had trusted so securely to my memory 
was defective in some slight circumstances, which 
rendered the whole useless., My materials for my 
quarto shrank into a very small compass. I flat¬ 
tered myself, however, that the elegance of my 
composition, and the moral and political reflections 
with which I intended to intersperse the work, would 
compensate for the paucity of facts in my narrative. 


364 


POPULAR TALES. 


That I might devote my whole attention to the 
business of writing, I determined to leave London, 
where I met with so many temptations to idleness, 
and set off to pay a visit to my uncle Lowe, who 
lived in the country, in a retired part of England. 
He was a farmer, a plain, sensible, affectionate man; 
and as he had often invited me to come and see him, 
I made no doubt that I should be an agreeable guest. 
I had intended to write a few lines the week before 
I set out, to say that I was coming; but I put it off 
till at last I thought that it would be useless, because 
I should get there as soon as my letter. 

I had soon reason to regret that I had been so 
negligent: for my appearance at my uncle’s, in¬ 
stead of creating that general joy which I had ex¬ 
pected, threw the whole house into confusion. It 
happened that there was company in the house, and 
all the beds were occupied: while I was taking off 
my boots, I had the mortification to hear my aunt 
Lowe say, in a voice of mingled distress and re¬ 
proach. “ Come! is he ?—My goodness ! What 
shall we do for a bed ?—How could he think of 
coming without writing a line beforehand? My 
goodness! I wish he was a hundred miles off, I’m 
sure.” 

My uncle shook hands with me, and welcomed 


TO-MORROW. 


365 


me to old England again, and to his house; which, 
he said, should always be open to all his relations. 
I saw that he was not pleased: and, as he was a 
man who, according to the English phrase, scorned 
to Jceep a thing long upon his mind , he let me 
know, before he had finished his first glass of ale 
to my good health, that he was inclinable to take 
it very unkind indeed that, after all he had said 
about my writing a letter now and then, just to say 
how I did, and how I was going on, I had never 
put pen to paper to answer one of his letters since 
the day I first promised to write, which was the 
day I went to Eton school, till this present time of 
speaking. I had no good apology to make for 
myself, but I attempted all manner of excuses; 
that I had put oft* writing from day to day, and 
from year to year, till I was ashamed to write at 
all; that it was not from want of affection, &c. 

My uncle took up his pipe and puffed away 
while I spoke: and when I had said all that I could 
devise, I sat silent; for I saw by the looks of all 
present that I had not mended the matter. My 
aunt pursed up her mouth, and “ wondered, if she 
must tell the plain truth, that so great a scholar as 
Mr. Basil could not, when it must give him so little 
trouble to indite a letter, write a few lines to an 
31 * 


366 


POPULAR TALES. 


uncle who had begged it so often, and who had 
ever been a good friend.” 

“ Say nothing of that,” said my uncle; “ I scorn 
to have that put into account. I loved the boy, 
and all I could do w r as done of course; that’s no¬ 
thing to the purpose; but the longest day I have to 
live I Ml never trouble him with begging a letter 
from him no more. For now I see he does not 
care a fig for me; and of course I do not care a fig 
for he. Lucy, hold up your head, girl; and don’t 
look as if you were going to be hanged.” 

My cousin Lucy was the only person present 
who seemed to have any compassion for me; and, 
as I lifted up my eyes to look at her when her 
father spoke, she appeared to me quite beautiful. 
I had always thought her a pretty girl, but she 
never struck me as any thing very extraordinary 
till this moment. I was very sorry that I had 
offended my uncle: I saw he was seriously dis¬ 
pleased, and that his pride, of which he had a large 
portion, had conquered his affection for me. 

“ ’T is easier to lose a friend than gain one, 
young man,” said he; “ and take my word for it, 
as this world goes, ’t is a foolish thing to lose a 
friend for want of writing a letter or so. Here’s 
seven years I have been begging a letter now and 


TO-MORROW. 


367 


then, and could not get one. Never wrote a line 
to me before you went to China, should not have 
known a word about it but for my wife who met 
you by mere chance in London, and gave you 
some little commissions for the children, which it 
seems you forgot till it was too late. Then, after 
you came back, never wrote to me.” 

“ And even not to write a line to give one notice 
of his coming here to-night,” added my aunt. 

“ Oh, as to that,” replied my uncle, “ he can 
never find our larder at a nonplus: we have no 
dishes for him dressed Chinese fashion; but as to 
roast-beef of old England, which, I take it, is 
worth all the foreign meats in the world, he is wel¬ 
come to it, and to as much of it as he pleases. I 
shall always be glad to see him as a relation, and 
so forth, as a good Christian ought, but not as the 
favourite he used to be—that is out of the question ; 
for things cannot be done and undone, and time 
that’s past cannot come back again, that is clear; 
and cold water thrown on a warm heart puts it 
out; and there’s an end of the matter. Lucy, 
bring me my nightcap.” 

Lucy, I think, sighed once; and I am sure I 
sighed above a dozen times; but my uncle put on 
his red nightcap, and heeded us not. I was in 


368 


POPULAR TALES. 


hopes that the next morning he would have been 
better disposed towards me after having slept off 
his anger. The moment that I appeared in the 
morning, the children, who had been in bed when 
I arrived the preceding night, crowded round me, 
and one cried, “ Cousin Basil, have you brought 
me the tumbler you promised me from China ?” 

“ Cousin Basil, where’s my boat ?” 

“ 0 Basil, did you bring me the calabash box 
that you promised me?” 

“ And pray,” cried my aunt, “ did you bring my 
Lucy the fan that she commissioned you to get ?” 

“ No, I’ll warrant,” said my uncle. “ He that 
cannot bring himself to write a letter in the course 
of seven years to his friends will not be apt to 
trouble his head about their foolish commissions 
when he is in foreign parts.” 

Though I was abashed and vexed, I summoned 
sufficient courage to reply that I had not neglected 
to execute the commissions of any of my friends; 
but that by an unlucky accident, the basket into 
which I had packed all their things was washed 
overboard. 

“ Hum!” said my uncle. 

“ And pray,” said my aunt, “ why were they 
all packed in a basket ? Why were not they put 


TO-MORROW. 


369 


into your trunks, where they might have been 
safer 

I was obliged to confess that I had delayed to 
purchase them till after we left Pekin ; and that the 
trunks were put on board before they were all pro¬ 
cured at Canton. My vile habit of procrastination! 
How did I suffer for it at this moment! Lucy 
began to make excuses for me, which made me 
blame myself the more: she said that, as to her 
fan, it would have been of little or no use to her; 
that she was sure she would have broken it before 
it had been a week in her possession; and that, 
therefore, she was glad that she had it not. The 
children were clamorous in their grief for the loss 
of the boat, the tumbler, and the calabash boxes; 
but Lucy contrived to quiet them, and to make my 
peace with all the younger part of the family. To 
reinstate me in my uncle’s good graces was im¬ 
possible ; he would only repeat to her, “ The 
young man has lost my good opinion; he will 
never do any good. From a child upward he has 
always put off doing every thing he ought to do. 
He will never do any good ; he will never be any 
thing.” 

My aunt was not my friend, because she sus¬ 
pected that Lucy liked me; and she thought her 


370 


POPULAR TALES. 


daughter might do much better than marry a man 
who had quitted the profession to which he was 
bred, and was, as it seemed, little likely to settle to 
any other. My pretensions to genius and my 
literary qualifications were of no advantage to me, 
either with my uncle or my aunt; the one being 
only a good farmer, and the other only a good 
housewife. They contented themselves with ask¬ 
ing me, coolly, what I had ever made by being an 
author? And when I was forced to answer noth’ 
ing , they smiled upon me in scorn. My pride was 
roused, and I boasted that I expected to receive at 
least 600 1. for my Voyage to China, which I hoped 
to complete in a few weeks. My aunt looked at 
me with astonishment; and, to prove to her that I 
was not passing the bounds of truth, I added that 
one of my travelling companions had, as I was 
credibly informed, received a thousand pounds for 
his narrative, to which mine would certainly be far 
superior. 

“ When it is done, and when you have the 
money in your hand to show us, I shall believe 
you,” said my aunt; “ and then, and not till then, 
you may begin to think of my Lucy.” 

“ He shall never have her,” said my uncle 


TO-MORROW. 371 

“ he will never come to good. He shall never 
have her.” 

The time which I ought to have spent in com¬ 
posing my quarto I now wasted in fruitless endea¬ 
vours to recover the good graces of my uncle. 
Love, assisted as usual by the spirit of opposition, 
took possession of my heart; and how can a man 
in love write quartos? I became more indolent 
than ever, for I persuaded myself that no exertions 
could overcome my uncle’s prejudice against me; 
and, without his approbation, I despaired of ever 
obtaining Lucy’s hand. 

During my stay at my uncle’s, I received several 
letters from my father, inquiring how my work 
went on, and urging me to proceed as rapidly as 
possible, lest another Voyage to China, which it 
was reported was now composing by a gentleman 
of high reputation, should come out, and preclude 
mine for ever. I cannot account for my folly: 
the power of habit is imperceptible to those who 
submit passively to its tyranny. From day to day 
I continued procrastinating and sighing, till at last 
the fatal news came that Sir George Staunton’s 
History of the Embassy to China, in two volumes 
quarto, was actually published. 

There was an end to all my hopes. I left my 


372 


POPULAR TALES. 


uncle’s house in despair: I dreaded to see my 
father. He overwhelmed me with well-merited re¬ 
proaches. All his expectations of my success in 
life were disappointed ; he was now convinced that 
I should never make my talents useful to myself 
or to my family. A settled melancholy appeared 
in his countenance: he soon ceased to urge me to 
any exertion, I idled away my time, deploring that 
I could not marry my Lucy, and resolving upon a 
thousand schemes for advancing myself, but always 
delaying their execution till to-morrow. 


CHAPTER III. 

Two years passed away in this manner; about 
the end of which time my poor father died. I can¬ 
not describe the mixed sensations of grief and self- 
reproach which I felt at his death. I knew that I 
had never fulfilled his sanguine prophecies, and that 
disappointment had long preyed upon his spirits. 
This was a severe shock to me: I was roused from 
a state of stupefaction by the necessity of acting as 
my father’s executor. 



TO-MORROW. 


373 


Among his bequests was one which touched me 
particularly, because I was sensible that it was made 
from kindness to me. “ I give and bequeath the 
full-length picture of my son Basil, taken when a 
boy (a very promising boy) at Eton school, to my 
brother Lowe. I should say to my sweet niece 
Lucy Lowe, but am afraid of giving offence.” 

I sent the picture to my uncle Lowe, with a copy 
of the words of the will, and a letter written in the 
bitterness of grief. My uncle, who was of an af¬ 
fectionate though positive temper, returned me the 
following answer: 


“ Dear Nephew Basil, 

“ Taking it for granted you feel as much as I 
do, it being natural you should, and even more, I 
shall not refuse to let my Lucy have the picture 
bequeathed to me by my good brother, who could 
not offend me dying, never having done so living. 
As to you, Basil, this is no time for reproaches, 
which would be cruel; but, without meaning to 
look back to the past, I must add that I mean no¬ 
thing by giving the picture to Lucy but respect for 
my poor brother’s memory. My opinions remain¬ 
ing as heretofore, I think it a duty to my girl to be 
steady in my determination; convinced that no 
32 


374 


POPULAR TALES. 


man (not meaning you in particular) of what I call 
a putting-off temper could make her happy, she 
being too mild to scold and bustle, and do the man’s 
business in a family. This is the whole of my 
mind, without malice; for how could I, if I were 
malicious, which I am not, bear malice, and at such 
a time as this, against my own nephew 1 and as to 
anger, that is soon over with me; and though I 
said I never would forgive you, Basil, for not 
writing to me for seven years, I do now forgive you 
with all my heart. So let that be off your con¬ 
science. And now I hope we shall be very Good 
friends all the rest of our lives ; that is to say, put¬ 
ting Lucy out of the question ; for, in my opinion, 
it is a disagreeable thing to have any bickerings 
between near relations. So, my dear nephew, 
wishing you all health and happiness, I hope you 
will now settle to business. My wife tells me she 
hears you are left in a good way by my poor 
brother’s care and industry ; and she sends her 
love to you, in which all the family unite, and 
hoping you will write from time to time, I remain, 
“ My dear nephew Basil, 

“Your affectionate uncle, 

“ Thomas Lowe.” 



TO-MORROW. 


375 


My aunt Lowe added a postscript, inquiring more 
particularly into the state of my affairs. I an¬ 
swered, by return of post, that my good father had 
left me much richer than I either expected or de¬ 
served : his credit in the booksellers’ line was ex¬ 
tensive and well established ; his shop was well 
furnished, and he had a considerable sum of money 
in bank; besides many good debts due from authors, 
to whom he had advanced cash. 

My aunt Lowe was governed by her interest as 
decidedly as my uncle was swayed by his humour 
and affection; and, of course, became more favour¬ 
able towards me when she found that my fortune 
was better than she had expected. She wrote to 
exhort me to attend to my business, and to prove 
to my uncle that I could cure myself of my negli¬ 
gent habits. She promised to befriend me, and to 
do every thing to obtain my uncle’s consent to my 
union with Lucy, upon condition that I would for 
six months steadily persevere, or, as she expressed 
herself, shore that I could come to good. 

The motive was powerful, sufficiently powerful 
to conquer the force of inveterate habit. I applied 
resolutely to business, and supported the credit 
which my father’s punctuality had obtained from 
his customers. During the course of six entire 


376 


POPULAR TALES. 


months, I am not conscious of having neglected or 
delayed to do any thing of consequence that I ought 
to have done, except whetting my razor. My aunt 
Lowe faithfully kept her word with me, and took 
every opportunity of representing, in the most fa¬ 
vourable manner to my uncle, the reformation that 
love had wrought in my character. 

I went to the country, full of hope, at end of 
my six probationary months. My uncle, however, 
with a mixture of obstinacy and good sense, replied 
to my aunt in my presence, “This reformation 
that you talk of, wife, won’t last. ’Twas begun 
by love, as you say; and will end with love, as I 
say. You and I know, my dear, love lasts little 
longer than the honeymoon; and Lucy is not, or 
ought not to be, such a simpleton as to look only 
to what a husband will be for one short month of 
his life, when she is to live with him for twenty, 
thirty, maybe forty long years ; and no help fm k 
let him turn out what he will. I beg your pardon, 
nephew Basil; but where my Lucy’s happiness is 
at stake, I must speak my mind as a father should. 
My opinion, Lucy, is, that he is not a whit changed • 
and so I now let you understand, if you marry the 
man, it must be without my consent.” 

Lucy turned exceedingly pale, and I grew ex- 




TO-MORROW. 


377 


tremely angry. My uncle had, as usual, recourse to 
his pipe; and to all the eloquence which love and in¬ 
dignation could inspire, he would only answer, 
between the whiffs of his smoking, “If my girl 
marries you, nephew Basil, I say she must do so 
without my consent.” 

Lucy’s affection for me struggled for some time 
with her sense of duty to her father; her mother 
supported my cause with much warmth; having 
once declared in my favour, she considered herself 
as bound to maintain her side of the question. It 
became a trial of power between my uncle and 
aunt; and their passions rose so high in the con¬ 
flict, that Lucy trembled for the consequences. 

One day she took an opportunity of speaking to 
me in private. “ My dear Basil,” said she, “ we 
must part. You see that I can never be yours with 
my father’s consent; and without it I could never 
be happy, even in being united to you. I will not 
be the cause of misery to all those whom I love best 
in the world. I will not set my father and mother 
at variance. I cannot bear to hear the altercations, 
which rise higher and higher between them every 
day. Let us part, and all will be right again.” 

It was in vain that I combated her resolution; I 
32* 


378 


POPULAR TALES. 


alternately resented and deplored the weakness 
which induced Lucy to sacrifice her own happiness 
and mine to the obstinate prejudices of a father; 
yet I could not avoid respecting her the more foi 
her adhering to what she believed to be her duty. 
The sweetness of temper, gentleness of disposition 
and filial piety which she showed on this trying oc¬ 
casion endeared her to me beyond expression. 

Her father, notwithstanding his determination to 
be as immoveable as a rock, began to manifest 
symptoms of internal agitation ; and one night 
after breaking his pipe, and throwing down the tongs 
and poker twice, which Lucy twice replaced, he 
exclaimed, “ Lucy, girl, you are a fool! and what 
is worse, you are grown into a mere shadow. You 
are breaking my heart. Why, I know this man, 
this Basil, this cursed nephew of mine, will never 
come to good. But cannot you marry him without 
my consent V ’ 

Upon this hint Lucy’s scruples vanished; and a 
few days afterward we were married. Prudence, 
virtue, pride, love, every strong motive which can 
act upon the human mind, stimulated me to exert 
myself to prove that I was worthy of this most 
amiable woman. A year passed away, and my 
Lucy said that she had no reason to repent of her 


TO-MORROW. 


379 


choice. She took the most affectionate pains to con¬ 
vince her father that she was perfectly happy, and 
that he had judged of me too harshly. His delight 
at seeing his daughter happy vanquished his reluc¬ 
tance to acknowledge that he had changed his 
opinion. I never shall forget the pleasure I felt at 
hearing him confess that he had been too positive, 
and that his Lucy had made a good match for her¬ 
self. 

Alas ! when I had obtained this testimony in my 
favour, when I had established a character for ex¬ 
ertion and punctuality, I began to relax in my 
efforts to deserve it: I indulged myself in my old 
habits of procrastination. My customers and country 
correspondents began to complain that their letters 
were unanswered, and that their orders were ne¬ 
glected. Their remonstrances became more and 
more urgent in process of time; and nothing but 
actually seeing the dates of their letters could con¬ 
vince me that they were in the right, and that I was 
in the wrong. An old friend of my father’s, a rich 
gentleman, who loved books, and bought all that 
were worth buying, sent me, in March, an order 
for books to a considerable amount. In April he 
wrote to remind me of his first letter. 


380 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ My dear Sir, “ April 3. 

“ Last month I wrote to request that you would 
send me the following books :—I have been much 
disappointed by not receiving them ; and I request 
you will be so good as to forward them imme¬ 
diately. I am, my dear sir, 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ J. C ” 

In May he wrote to me again: 

“ Dear Sir, 

“ I am much surprised at not having yet re¬ 
ceived the books I wrote for last March—beg to 
know the cause of this delay; and am, 

“ Dear sir, 

“ Yours, &c. 

« J. C ” 

A fortnight afterward, as I was packing up the 
books for this gentleman, I received the following: 

“ Sir, 

“ As it is now above a quarter of a year since I 
wrote to you for books, which you have not yet 
sent to me, I have been obliged to apply to another 
bookseller. 

“ I am much concerned at being compelled to 


TO-MORROW. 


381 


this: I had a great regard for your father, and 
would not willingly break off my connexion with 
his son; but really you have tried my patience too 
far. Last year I never had from you any one 
new publication until it was in the hands of all my 
neighbours; and I have often been under the ne¬ 
cessity of borrowing books which I had bespoken 
from you months before. I hope you will take this 
as a warning, and that you will not use any of 
your other friends as you have used, 

“ Sir, 

“ Your humble servant, 

“ J. C ” 

This reprimand had little effect upon me, be¬ 
cause, at the time when I received it, I was intent 
upon an object in comparison with which the trade 
of a bookseller appeared absolutely below my con¬ 
sideration. I was inventing a set of new taxes for 
the minister, for which I expected to be liberally 
rewarded. I was ever searching for some short 
cut to the temple of Fame, instead of following the 
beaten road. 

I was much encouraged by persons intimately 
connected with those high in power to hope that 
my new taxes would be adopted ; and I spent my 


382 


POPULAR TALES. 


time in attendance upon my patrons, leaving the 
care of my business to my foreman, a young man 
whose head the whole week was intent upon riding 
out on Sunday. With such a master and such a 
foreman affairs could not go on well. 

My Lucy, notwithstanding her great respect for 
my abilities, and her confidence in my promises, 
often hinted that she feared ministers might not at 
last make me amends for the time I devoted to my 
system of taxation; but I persisted. The file of 
unanswered letters was filled even to the top of the 
wire; the drawer of unsettled accounts made me 
sigh profoundly, whenever it was accidentally 
opened. I soon acquired a horror of business, and 
practised all the arts of apology, evasiion, and in¬ 
visibility, to which procrastinators must sooner or 
later be reduced. My conscience gradually be¬ 
came callous: and I could, without compunction, 
promise, wdth a face of truth, to settle an accouut 
to-morrow , without having the slightest hope of 
keeping my word. 

I was a publisher as well as a bookseller, and 
was assailed by a tribe of rich and poor authors. 
The rich complained continually of delays that 
affected their fame; the poor of delays that con¬ 
cerned their interest, and sometimes their very ex 


TO-MORROW. 


383 


istence. I was cursed with a compassionate as 
well as with a procrastinating temper; and I fre¬ 
quently advanced money to my poor authors, to 
compensate for my neglect to settle their accounts, 
and to free myself from the torment of their re¬ 
proaches. 

They soon learned to take a double advantage 
of my virtues and my vices. The list of my poor 
authors increased, for I was an encourasrer of 
genius. I trusted to my own judgment concerning 
every performance that was offered to me; and I 
was often obliged to pay for having neglected to 
read, or to send to press, these multifarious manu¬ 
scripts. After having kept a poor devil of an au¬ 
thor upon the tenterhooks of expectation for an 
unconscionable time, I could not say to him, “ Sir, 
I have never opened your manuscript; there it is, 
in that heap of rubbish: take it away for heaven’s 
sake.” No, hardened as I was, I never failed to 
make some compliment, or some retribution; and 
my compliments were often in the end the most 
expensive species of retribution. 

My rich authors soon deserted me, and hurt my 
credit in the circles of literary fashion by their 
clamours. I had ample experience, yet I had 
never been able to decide whether I would rather 


384 


POPULAR TALES. 


meet the “ desperate misery” of a famishing pam¬ 
phleteer, or the exasperated vanity of a rich ama¬ 
teur. Every one of my authors seemed convinced 
that the fate of Europe or the salvation of the 
world depended upon the publication of their book 
on some particular day; while I all the time was 
equally persuaded that their works were mere trash 
in comparison with my new system of taxation: 
consequently I postponed their business, and pur¬ 
sued my favourite tax-scheme. 

I have the pride and pleasure to say that all my 
taxes were approved and adopted, and brought in 
an immense increase of revenue to the state; but 
I have the mortification to be obliged to add, that I 
never, directly or indirectly, received the slightest 
pecuniary reward; and the credit of all I had pro¬ 
posed was snatched from me by a rogue, who had 
no other merit than that of being shaved sooner 
than I was one frosty morning. If I had not put 
off whetting my razor the preceding day, this 
would not have happened. To such a trifling in¬ 
stance of my unfortunate habit of procrastination 
must I attribute one of the most severe disap¬ 
pointments of my life. A rival financier, who laid 
claim to the prior invention and suggestion of my 
principal taxes was appointed to meet me at the 


TO-MORROW. 


385 


house of my great man at ten o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing. My opponent was punctual; I was half an 
hour too late; his claims were established; mine 
were rejected, because I was not present to pro¬ 
duce my proofs. When I arrived at my patron’s 
the insolent porter shut the door in my face; and 
so ended all hopes from my grand system of tax¬ 
ation. 

I went home and shut myself up in my room, 
to give vent to my grief at leisure: but I was not 
permitted to indulge my sorrow long in peace. I 
was summoned by my foreman to come down 
stairs to one of my enraged authors, who positively 
refused to quit the shop without seeing me. Of the 
whole irritable race, the man who was now waiting 
to see me was the most violent. He was a man 
of some genius and learning, with great preten¬ 
sions and a vindictive spirit. He was poor, yet 
lived among the rich; and his arrogance could be 
equalled only by his susceptibility. He was known 
in our house by the name of Thavmaturgos , the 
retailer of wonders , because he had sent me a 
manuscript with this title: and once or twice a 
week we received a letter or message from him, to 
inquire when it would be published. 1 had un¬ 
fortunately mislaid this precious manuscript. Under 
33 


386 


POPULAR TALES. 


this circumstance, to meet the author was almost 
as dreadful as to stand the shot of a pistol. Down 
stairs I went, unprovided with any apology. 

“ Sir,” cried my angry man, suppressing his 
passion, “ as you do not find it worth your while 
to publish Tliaumaturgos , you will be so obliging 
as to let me have my manuscript.” 

“ Pardon me, m)> dear sir,” interrupted I; “it 
shall certainly appear this spring.” 

“ Spring! Zounds, sir, don’t talk to me of 
spring. Why you told me it should be out at 
Christmas; you said it should be out last June; 
you promised to send it to press before last Easter. 
Is this the way I am to be treated ?” 

“ Pardon me, my dear sir. I confess I have 
used you and the world very ill; but the pressure 
of business must plead my apology.” 

“ Look you, Mr. Basil Lowe, I am not come 
here to listen to commonplace excuses. I have 
been ill used, and know it; and the world shall 
know it. I am not ignorant of the designs of my 
enemies; but no cabal shall succeed against me. 
Thaumaturgos shall not be suppressed! Thauma- 
turgos shall see the light! Thaumaturgos shall 
have justice in spite of all the machinations of 
malice. Sir, I demand my manuscript.” 


TO-MORROW. 


387 


“ Sir, it shall be sent to you to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow, sir, will not do for me. I have 
heard of to-morrow from you this twelvemonth past. 
I will have my manuscript to-day. I do not leave 
this spot without Thaumaturgos.” 

Thus driven to extremities, I was compelled to 
confess that I could not immediately lay my hand 
upon it; but I added that the whole house should 
be searched for it instantly. It is impossible to 
describe the indignation which my author ex¬ 
pressed. I ran away to search the house. He 
followed me, and stood by while I rummaged in 
drawers and boxes full of papers, and tossed over 
heaps of manuscripts. No Thaumaturgos could 
be found. The author declared that he had no 
copy of the manuscript; that he had been offered 
500/. for it by another bookseller; and that, for 
his own part, he would not lose it for twice that 
sum. Lost, however, it evidently was. He stalked 
out of my house, bidding me prepare to abide by 
the consequences. I racked my memory in vain 
to discover what I had done with this bundle of 
wonders. I could recollect only that I carried it a 
week in my great-coat pocket, resolving every day 
to lock it up ; and that I went to the Mount coffee- 


388 POPULAR TALES. 

house in this coat several times. These recollec¬ 
tions were of little use. 

A suit was instituted against me for the value of 
Thaumaturgos: and the damages were modestly 
laid by the author at eight hundred guineas. The 
cause was highly interesting to all the tribe of London 
booksellers and authors. The court was crowded at 
an early hour; several people of fashion, who were 
partisans of the plaintiff, appeared in the gallery; 
many more, who were his enemies, attended on 
purpose to hear my counsel ridicule and abuse the 
pompous Thaumaturgos. I had great hopes myself 
that we might win the day ; especially as the lawyer 
on the opposite side was my old competitor at Eton, 
that Johnson whom I had always considered as a 
mere laborious drudge, and a very heavy fellow. 
How this heavy fellow got up in the world, and how 
he contrived to supply by dint of study the want 
of natural talents, I cannot tell; but this I know to 
my cost, that he managed his client’s cause so ably, 
and made a speech so full of sound law and clear 
sense, as effectually to decide the cause against me. 
I was condemned to pay 500Z. damages and costs 
of suit. Five hundred pounds lost by delaying to 
lock up a bundle of papers ! Everybody pitied me, 
because the punishment seemed so disproportioned 


TO-MORROW. 


389 


to the offence. The pity of everybody, however, 
did not console me for the loss of my money. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The trial was published in the papers: my uncle 
Lowe read it, and all my credit with him was lost 
for ever. Lucy did not utter a syllable of reproach 
or complaint; but she used all her gentle influence 
to prevail upon me to lay aside the various schemes 
which I had formed for making a rapid fortune, 
and urged me to devote my whole attention to my 
business. 

The loss which I had sustained, though great, 
was not irremediable. I was moved more by my 
wife’s kindness than I could have been by the most 
outrageous invective. But what is kindness, what is 
affection, what are the best resolutions, opposed to 
all-powerful habit ? I put off settling my affairs 
till I had finished a pamphlet against government, 
which my friends and the critics assured me would 
make my fortune, by attaching to my shop all the 
opposition members. 

My pamphlet succeeded, was highly praised, and 
loudly abused: answers appeared, and I was called 
33 * 



390 


POPULAR TALES. 


upon to provide rejoiners. Time thus passed away, 
and while I was gaining fame, I every hour lost 
money. I was threatened with bankruptcy. I 
threw aside my pamphlets, and, in the utmost ter¬ 
ror and confusion, began, too late, to look into my 
affairs. I now attempted too much : I expected to 
repair by bustle the effects of procrastination. The 
nervous anxiety of my mind prevented me from 
doing any thing well; whatever I was employed 
about appeared to me of less consequence than a 
hundred other things which ought to be done. The 
letter that I was writing, or the account that I was 
settling, was but one of a multitude; which had all 
equal claims to be expedited immediately. My 
courage failed; I abandoned my business in despair. 
A commission of bankruptcy was taken out against 
me; all my goods were seized, and I became a 
prisoner in the King’s Bench. 

My wife’s relations refused to give me any as¬ 
sistance ; but her father offered to receive her and 
her little boy, on condition that she would part from 
me, and spend the remainder of her days with them. 
This she positively refused; and I never shall for¬ 
get the manner of her refusal. Her character rose 
in adversity. With the utmost feminine gentleness 
and delicacy, she had a degree of courage and for- 


TO-MORROW. 


391 


titude which I have seldom seen equalled in any of 
my own sex. She followed me to prison, and sup¬ 
ported my spirits by a thousand daily instances of 
kindness. During eighteen months that she passed 
with me in a prison, which we then thought must 
be my abode for life, she never, by word or look, 
reminded me that I was the cause of our mis for-, 
tunes; on the contrary she drove this idea from 
my thoughts with all the address of female affection. 
I cannot, even at this distance of time, recall these 
things to memory without tears. 

What a woman, what a wife had I reduced to 
distress! I never saw her, even in the first months 
of our marriage, so cheerful and so tender as at 
this period. She seemed to have no existence but 
in me and in our little boy, of whom she was 
dotingly fond. He was at this time just able to run 
about and talk; his playful caresses, his thought¬ 
less gayety, and at times a certain tone of com¬ 
passion for poor papa , were very touching Alas! 
he little foresaw .... But let me go on 
with my history, if I can, without anticipation. 

Among my creditors was a Mr. Nun, a paper- 
maker, who from his frequent dealings with me, 
had occasion to see something of my character and 
of my wife’s: he admired her and pitied me. He 


392 


POPULAR TALES. 


was in easy circumstances, and delighted in doing 
all the good in his power. One morning my Lucy 
came into my room with a face radiant with joy. 

“ My love,” said she, “ here is Mr. Nun below, 
waiting to see you : but he says he will not see you 
till I have told you the good news. He has got all 
our creditors to enter into a compromise, and to 
set you at liberty.” 

I was transported with joy and gratitude ; our 
benevolent friend was waiting in a hackney-coach 
to carry us away from prison. When I began to 
thank him, he stopped me with a blunt declaration 
that I was not a bit obliged to him; for that, if I 
had been a man of straw, he would have done just 
the same for the sake of my wife, whom he looked 
upon to be one or other the best woman he had ever 
seen, Mrs. Nun always excepted. 

He proceeded to inform me how he had settled 
my affairs, and how he had obtained from my cre¬ 
ditors a small allowance for the immediate support 
of myself and family. He had given up the third 
part of a considerable sum due to himself. As my 
own house was shut up, he insisted upon taking us 
home with him: “ Mrs. Nun,” he said, “ had pro¬ 
vided a good dinner; and he must not have her 


TO-3IORROW. 393 

ducks and green pease upon the table, and no 
friends to eat them.” 

Never were ducks and green pease more ac¬ 
ceptable ; never was a dinner eaten with more ap¬ 
petite, or given with more good-will. I have often 
thought of this dinner, and compared the hospi¬ 
tality of this simple-hearted man with the ostenta¬ 
tion of great folks, who give splendid entertain¬ 
ments to those who do not want them. In trifles 
and in matters of consequence this Mr. Nun was 
one of the most liberal and unaffectedly generous 
men I ever knew; but the generous actions of men 
in middle life are lost in obscurity. No matter: 
they do not act from a love of fame; they act from 
a better motive, and they have their reward in their 
own hearts. 

As I was passing through Mr. Nun’s warehouse, 
I was thinking of writing something on this sub¬ 
ject ; but whether it should be a poetic effusion, in 
the form of “ An Ode to him who least expects it,” 
or a prose work, under the title of “ Modern Pa¬ 
rallels,” in the manner of Plutarch, I had not de¬ 
cided, when I was roused from my revery by my 
wife, who, pointing to a large bale of paper that 
was directed to “ Ezekiel Croft, merchant, Phila¬ 
delphia,” asked me if I knew that this gentleman 


394 


POPULAR TALES. 


was a very near relation of her mother? “Is he, 
indeed I” said Mr. Nun. “ Then I can assure you 
that you have a relation of whom you have no oc¬ 
casion to be ashamed: he is one of the most re¬ 
spectable merchants in Philadelphia.” 

“ He was not very rich when he left this country 
about six years ago,” said Lucy. 

“ He has a very good fortune now,” answered 
Mr. Nun. 

“ And has he made this very good fortune in six 
years ?” cried I. “ My dear Lucy, I did not know 
that you had any relations in America. I have a 
great mind to go over there myself.” 

“ Away from all our friends V 9 said Lucy. 

“ I shall be ashamed,” replied I, “ to see them 
after all that has happened. A bankrupt cannot 
have many friends. The best thing that I can pos¬ 
sibly do is to go over to a new world, where I may 
establish a new character, and make a new for¬ 
tune.” 

“ But we must not forget,” said Mr. Nun, “ that 
in the new world, as in the old one, a character 
and a fortune must be made by much the same 
means; and forgive me if I add, the same bad 
habits that are against a man in one country will 
be as much against him in another.” 


TO-MORROW. 


395 


“ True,” thought I, as I recollected at this instant 
my unfortunate voyage to China. But now that 
the idea of going to America had come into my 
mind, I saw so many chances of success in my fa¬ 
vour, and I felt so much convinced I should not 
relapse into my former faults, that I could not 
abandon the scheme. My Lucy consented to ac¬ 
company me. She spent a week in the country 
with her father and friends, by my particular de¬ 
sire ; and they did all they could to prevail upon 
her to stay with them, promising to take the best 
possible care of her and her little boy during my 
absence ; but she steadily persisted in her determi¬ 
nation to accompany her husband. I was not too 
late in going on shipboard this time ; and, during 
the whole voyage, I did not lose any of my goods; 
for, in the first place, I had very few goods to lose, 
and, in the next, my wife took the entire charge of 
those few. 

And now behold me safely landed at Philadel¬ 
phia, with one hundred pounds in my pocket—a 
small sum of money; but many, from yet more 
trifling beginnings, had grown rich in America. 
My wife’s relation, Mr. Croft, had not so much, as 
I was told, when he left England. Many passen¬ 
gers who came over in the same ship with me had 


396 


POPULAR TALES. 


not half so much. Several of them were indeed 
wretchedly poor. 

Among others there was an Irishman who was 
known by the name of Barny, a contraction, I be¬ 
lieve, for Barnaby. As to his surname he could 
not undertake to spell it; but he assured me there 
was no better. This man, with many of his rela¬ 
tives, had come to England, according to their 
custom, during harvest-time, to assist in reaping, 
because they gain higher wages than in their own 
country. Barny heard that he should get still 
higher wages for labour in America, and accord¬ 
ingly he and his two sons, lads of eighteen and 
twenty, took their passage for Philadelphia. A 
merrier mortal I never saw. We used to hear him 
upon deck, continually singing or whistling his Irish 
tunes; and I should never have guessed that this 
man’s life had been a series of hardships and mis¬ 
fortunes. 

When we were leaving the ship, I saw him, to 
my great surprise, crying bitterly ; and upon in¬ 
quiring what was the matter, he answered that it 
was not for himself, but for his sons, he was griev¬ 
ing, because they were to be made redemption men ; 
that is, they were to be bound to work, during a 
certain time, for the captain, or for whomever he 


TO-MORROW. 


397 


pleased, till the money due for their passage should 
be paid. Though I was somewhat surprised at any 
one’s thinking of coming on board a vessel without 
having one farthing in his pocket, yet I could not 
forbear paying the money for this poor fellow. 
He dropped down on the deck upon both his kne^s, as 
suddenly as if he had been shot, and, holding u£ 
his hands to heaven, prayed, first in Irish, and then 
in English, with fervent fluency, that “ I and mine 
might never want; that I might live long to reign 
over him; that success might attend my honour 
wherever I went; and that I might enjoy for ever¬ 
more all sorts of blessings and crowns of glory.” 
As I had an English prejudice in favour of silent 
gratitude, I was rather disgusted by all this elo¬ 
quence ; I turned away abruptly, and got into the 
boat which waited to carry me to shore. 

As we rowed away I looked at my wife and 
child, and reproached myself with having indulged 
in the luxury of generosity, perhaps at their ex¬ 
pense. 

My wife’s relation, Mr. Croft, received us better 
than she expected, and worse than I hoped. He 
had the face of an acute money-making man ; his 
manners were methodical; caution was in his eye, 
and prudence in all his motions. In our first half- 
34 


398 


POPULAR TALES. 


hour’s conversation he convinced me that he de¬ 
served the character he had obtained, of being up¬ 
right and exact in all his dealings. His ideas were 
just and clear, but confined to the objects immedi¬ 
ately relating to his business; as to his heart, he 
seemed to have no notion of general philanthropy, 
but to have perfectly learned by rote his duty to his 
neighbour. He appeared disposed to do charitable 
and good-natured actions from reason, and not 
from feeling ; because they were proper, not merely 
because they were agreeable. I felt that I should 
respect, but never love him ; and that he would 
never either love or respect me, because the 
virtue which he held in the highest veneration was 
that in which I was most deficient—punctuality. 

But I will give, as nearly as I can, my first con¬ 
versation with him ; and from that a better idea of 
his character may be formed than I can afford by 
any description. 

I presented to him Mr. Nun’s letter of intro¬ 
duction, and mentioned that my wife had the hon¬ 
our of being related to him. He perused Mr. 
Nun’s letter very slowly. I was determined not to 
leave him in any doubt respecting who and what I 
was; and I briefly told him the particulars of my 
history. He listened with immoveable attention; 


TO-MORROW. 


399 


and when I had finished he said, “ You have not 
yet told me what your views are in coming to 
America.” 

I replied, “ that my plans were not yet fixed.” 

“ But of course,” said he, “ you cannot have 
left home without forming some plan for the future. 
May I ask what line of life you mean to pursue?” 

I answered, “ that I was undetermined, and 
meant to be guided by circumstances.” 

“ Circumstances !” said he. “ May I request you 
to explain yourself more fully ? for I do not pre¬ 
cisely understand to what circumstances you al¬ 
lude.” 

I was provoked with the man for being so slow 
of apprehension ; but, when driven to the necessity 
of explaining, I found that I did not myself under¬ 
stand what I meant. 

I changed my ground,* and lowering my tone 
of confidence, said, that as I was totally ignorant 
of the country, I should wish to be guided by the 
advice of better informed persons; and that I 
begged leave to address myself to him, as having 
had the most successful experience. 

After a considerable pause he replied, it was a 
hazardous thing to give advice,* but that as my 
wife was his relation, and as he held it a duty to 


400 


POPULAR TALES. 


assist his relations, he should not decline giving 
me—all the advice in his power. 

I bowed and felt chilled all over by his manner. 

“ And not only my advice,” continued he, “ but 
my assistance—in reason.” 

I said, “ I was much obliged to him.” 

“ Not in the least, young man ; you are not in 
the least obliged to me yet, for I have done noth¬ 
ing for you.” 

This was true, and not knowing what to say, I 
was silent. 

“ And that which I may be able to do for you 
m future must depend as much upon yourself as 
upon me. In the first place, before I can give any 
advice I must know what you are worth in the 
world.” 

My worth in money, I told him with a forced 
smile, was but very trifling indeed. With some 
hesitation I named the sum. 

“ And you have a wife and child to support!” 
said he, shaking his head. “ And your child is too 
young and your wife too delicate to work. They 
will be sad burdens upon your hands; these are 
not the things for America. Why did you bring 
them with you ? But, as that is done, and cannot 
be mended,” continued he, “ we must make the 


TO-MORROW. 


401 


best of it, and support them. You say you are ig¬ 
norant of the country. I must explain to you then 
how money is to be made here, and by whom. 
The class of labourers make money readily, if 
they are industrious, because they have high wages 
and constant employment; artificers and mechan¬ 
ics, carpenters, shipwrights, wheelwrights, smiths, 
bricklayers, masons, get rich here without diffi¬ 
culty, from the same causes: but all these things 
are out of the question for you. You have head, 
not hands, I perceive. Now mere head, in the 
line of bookmaking or bookselling, brings in but 
poor profit in this country. The sale for imported 
books is extensive; and our printers are doing 
something by subscription here, in Philadelphia, 
and in New York, they tell me. But London is 
the place for a good bookseller to thrive; and you 
come from London, where you tell me you were a 
bankrupt. I would not advise you to have any 
thing more to do with bookselling or bookmaking. 
Then as to becoming a planter: our planters, if 
they are skilful and laborious, thrive well; but you 
have not capital sufficient to clear land and build a 
house; or hire servants to do the work, for which 
you are not yourself sufficiently robust. Besides 
I do not imagine you know how much of agricul 
34 * 


402 


POPULAR TALES. 


tural concerns, or country business; and even to 
oversee and guide others, experience is necessary. 
The life of a back settler I do not advise, because 
you and your wife are not equal to it. You are 
not accustomed to live in a log-house, or to feed 
upon racoons and squirrels: not to omit the con¬ 
stant dread, if not imminent danger, of being 
burnt in your beds, or scalped by the Indians with 
whom you would be surrounded. Upon the whole, 
I see no line of life that promises well for you but 
that of a merchant: and I see no means of your 
getting into this line, without property and without 
credit, except by going into some established house 
as a clerk. You are a good penman and ready 
accountant, I think you tell me; and I presume 
you have a sufficient knowledge of book-keeping. 
With sobriety, diligence, and honesty, you may do 
well in this way; and may look forward to being 
a partner, and in a lucrative situation, some years 
hence. This is the way I managed, and rose my¬ 
self by degrees to what you see. It is true, I was 
not at first encumbered with a wife and young 
child. In due time I married my master’s daughter, 
which was a great furtherance to me; but then, 
on the other hand, your wife is my relation; and 
to be married to the relation of a rich merchant is 


TO-MORROW. 


403 


next best to not being married at all, in your situa¬ 
tion. I told you I thought it my duty to proffer 
assistance as well as advice : so take up your abode 
with me for a fortnight: in that time I shall be able 
to judge whether you are capable of being a clerk; 
and if you and I should suit, we will talk further. 
You understand that I enter into no engagement, 
and make no promise; but shall be glad to lodge 
you and your wife, and little boy, for a fortnight; 
and it will be your own fault, and must be your 
own loss, if the visit turns out waste of time—I 
cannot stay to talk to you any longer at present,” 
added he, pulling out his watch, “ for I have busi¬ 
ness, and business waits for no man. Go back to 
your inn for my relation and her little one. We 
dine at two, precisely.” 

I left Mr. Croft’s house with a vague, indescribable 
feeling of dissatisfaction and disappointment; but 
when I arrived at my inn, and repeated all that had 
passed to my wife, she seemed quite surprised and 
delighted by the civil and friendly manner in which 
this gentleman had behaved. She tried to reason 
the matter with me; but there is no reasoning with 
imagination. 

The fact was, Mr. Croft had destroyed certain 
vague and visionary ideas that I had indulged, of 


404 


POPULAR TALES. 


making, by some unknown means, a rapid fortune 
in America; and to be reduced to real life, and 
sink into a clerk in a merchant’s counting-house, 
was mortification and misery. Lucy in vain dwelt 
upon the advantage of having found, immediately 
upon my arrival in Philadelphia, a certain mode 
of employment; and a probability of rising to be 
a partner in one of the first mercantile houses, if 
I went on steadily for a few years. I was forced 
to acknowledge that her relation was very good; 
that I was certainly very fortunate; and that I 
ought to think myself very much obliged to Mr. 
Croft. But after avowing all this, I walked up and 
down the room in melancholy revery for a con¬ 
siderable length of time. My wife reminded me 
repeatedly that Mr. Croft said he dined precisely at 
two o’clock; that he was a very punctual man; 
that it was a long walk, as I had found it, from the 
inn to his house; that I had better dress myself 
for dinner; and that my clean shirt and cravat were 
ready for me. I still walked up and down the room 
in revery till my wife was completely ready, had 
dressed the child, and held up my watch before my 
eyes to show me that it wanted but ten minutes of 
two. I then began to dress in the greatest hurry 
imaginable: and unluckily, as I was pulling on my 


TO-MORROW. 


405 


silk stocking, I tore a hole in the leg, or, as my 
wife expressed it, a stitch dropped, and I was forced 
to wait while she repaired the evil. Certainly this 
operation of taking up a stitch , as I am instructed 
to call it, is one of the slowest operations in nature; 
or rather, one of the most tedious and teasing ma¬ 
noeuvres of art. Though the most willing and the 
most dexterous fingers that ever touched a needle 
were employed in my service, I thought the work 
would never be finished. 

At last I was liosed and shod, and out we set. 
It struck a quarter past two as we left the house; 
we came to Mr. Croft’s in the middle of dinner. 
He had a large company at table; everybody was 
disturbed; my Lucy was a stranger to Mrs. Croft, 
and was to be introduced; and nothing could be 
more awkward and embarrassing than our entree 
and introduction. There were such compliments 
and apologies, such changing of places, such shuf¬ 
fling of chairs, and running about of servants, that 
I thought we never should be seated. 

In the midst of the bustle my little chap began 
to roar most horribly, and to struggle to get away 
from a black servant, who was helping him up on 
his chair. The child’s terror at the sudden ap¬ 
proach of the negro could not be conquered, noi 


406 


POPULAR TALES. 


could he by any means be quieted. Mrs. Croft at 
last ordered the negro out of the room, the roaring 
ceased, and nothing but the child’s sobs were heard 
for some instants. 

The guests were all silent, and had ceased eating; 
Mrs. Croft was vexed because every thing was 
cold; Mr. Croft looked much discomfited, and said 
not a syllable more than was absolutely necessary, 
as master of* the house. I never ate, oV rather I 
was never at, a more disagreeable dinner. I was 
in pain for Lucy as well as for myself; her colour 
rose up to her temples. I cursed myself a hundred 
times for not having gone to dress in time. 

At length, to my great relief, the cloth was taken 
away; but even when we came to the wine after 
dinner, the cold formality of my host continued 
unabated, and I began to fear that he had taken an 
insurmountable dislike to me, and that I should lose 
all the advantages of his protection and assistance: 
advantages which rose considerably in my estima¬ 
tion, when I apprehended I was upon the point of 
losing them. 

Soon after dinner, a young gentleman of the 
name of Hudson joined the company; his manners 
and appearance were prepossessing; he was frank 
and well-bred; and the effect of his politeness was 


TO-MORROW. 


407 


soon felt, as if by magic, for everybody became at 
their ease; his countenance was full of life and 
fire; and though he said nothing that showed re¬ 
markable abilities, every thing he said pleased. 
As soon as he found that I was a stranger, he ad¬ 
dressed his conversation principally to me. I re¬ 
covered my spirits, exerted myself to entertain him, 
and succeeded. He was delighted to hear news 
from England, and especially from London, a city 
which he said he had an ardent desire to visit. 
When he took leave of me in the evening, he ex¬ 
pressed very warmly the wish to cultivate my ac¬ 
quaintance; and I was the more flattered and 
obliged by this civility, because I was certain that 
he knew exactly my situation and circumstances, 
Mrs. Croft having explained them to him very fully, 
even in my hearing. 


CHAPTER V. 

In the course of the ensuing week, young Mr. 
Hudson and I saw one another almost every day, 
and our mutual liking for each other’s company 
increased. He introduced me to his father, who 
had been a planter, and having made a large for- 



409 


POPULAR TALES. 


tune, came to reside at Philadelphia, to enjoy him¬ 
self, as he said, for the remainder of his days. 
He lived in what the sober Americans called a 
most luxurious and magnificent style. The best 
company in Philadelphia met at his house; and he 
delighted particularly in seeing those who had con¬ 
vivial talents, and who would supply him with wit 
and gayety, in which he was naturally rather de¬ 
ficient. 

On my first visit, I perceived that his son had 
boasted of me as one of the best companions in the 
world; and I determined to support the character 
that had been given of me; I told two or three 
good stories, and sang two or three good songs. 
The company were charmed with me; old Mr. 
Hudson was particularly delighted; he gave me a 
pressing general invitation to his house, and most 
of the principal guests followed his example. I 
was not a little elated with this success. Mr. Croft 
was with me at this entertainment; and I own I 
was peculiarly gratified by feeling that I at once 
became conspicuous, by my talents, in a company 
where he was apparently of no consequence, not¬ 
withstanding all his wealth and prudence. 

As we went home together, he said to me, very 
gravely, “ I would not advise you, Mr. Basil Lowe, 


TO-MORROW. 


409 


to accept of all these invitations; nor to connect 
yourself intimately with young Hudson. The so¬ 
ciety at Mr. Hudson’s is very well for those who 
have made a fortune, and want to spend it; but for 
those who have a fortune to make, in my opinion, 
it is not only useless but dangerous.” 

I was in no humour at this moment to profit by 
this sober advice; especially as I fancied it might 
be dictated, in some degree, by envy of my superior 
talents and accomplishments. My wife, however, 
supported his advice by many excellent and kind 
arguments. She observed that these people, who 
invited me to their houses as a good companion, 
followed merely their own pleasure, and would 
never be of any real advantage to me; that Mr. 
Croft, on the contrary, showed, from the first hour 
when I applied to him, a desire to serve me; that 
he had pointed out the means of establishing my¬ 
self; and that, in the advice he gave me, he could 
be actuated only by a wish to be of use to me; 
that it was more reasonable to suspect him of de¬ 
spising than of envying talents which were not 
directed to the grand object of gaining money. 

Good sense from the lips of a woman whom a 
man loves has a mighty effect upon his understand¬ 
ing, especially if he sincerely believe that the wo* 
35 


410 


POPULAR TALES. 


man has no dcsiro to rule. This was my singulai 
case. I promised Lucy I would refuse all invita¬ 
tions for the ensuing fortnight, and devote myself 
to whatever business Mr. Croft might devise. No 
one could be more assiduous than I was for ten 
days ; and I perceived that Mr. Croft, though it was 
not his custom to praise, was well satisfied with my 
diligence. Unluckily, on the eleventh day, I put 
off in the morning making out an invoice, which he 
left for me to do, and I was persuaded in the even¬ 
ing to go out with young Mr. Hudson. I had ex¬ 
pressed, in conversation with him, some curiosity 
about the American frog-concerts, of which I had 
read, in modern books of travels, extraordinary 
accounts. 

Mr. Hudson persuaded me to accompany him to 
a swamp, at some miles’ distance from Philadelphia, 
to hear one of these concerts. The performance 
lasted some time, and it was late before we returned 
to town: I went to bed tired, and waked in the 
morning with a cold, which I had caught by stand¬ 
ing so long in- the swamp. I lay an hour after I 
was called, in hopes of getting rid of my cold: 
when I was at last up and dressed, I recollected my 
invoice, and resolved to do it the first thing after 
breakfast; but, unluckily, I put it off till I had look- 


TO-MORROW. 


411 


ed for some lines in Homer’s “ Battle of the Frogs 
and Mice.” There was no Homer, as you may 
guess, in Mr. Croft’s house, and I went to a book¬ 
seller’s to borrow one: he had Pope’s Iliad and 
Odyssey, but no Battle of the Frogs and Mice. I 
walked over half the town in search of it; at length 
I found it, and was returning in triumph, with Ho¬ 
mer in each pocket, when at the door of Mr. CrofFs 
house I found half a dozen porters, with heavy 
loads upon their backs. 

“ Where are you going, my good fellows ?” said L 

“ To the quay, sir, with the cargo for the Betsy.” 

“ My God !” cried I, <c Stop. Can’t you stop a 
minute 1 I thought the Betsy was not to sail till to¬ 
morrow. Stop one minute.” 

“ No, sir,” said they, “ that we can’t; for the 
captain bade us make what haste we could to the 
quay to load her.” 

I ran into the house; the captain of the Betsy 
was bawling in the hall, with his hat on the back 
of his head; Mr. Crofi: on the landing-place of the 
warehouse-stairs, with open letters in his hand, and 
two or three of the under-clerks were running dif¬ 
ferent ways with pens in their mouths. 

“ Mr. Basil! the invoice!” exclaimed all the 
clerks at once, the moment I made my appearance. 


412 


POPULAR TALES. 


“ Mr. Basil Lowe, the invoice and the copy, if 
you please,” repeated Mr. Croft. “We have sent 
three messengers after you. Very extraordinary 
to go out at this time of day, and not even to leave 
word where you are to be found. Here’s the cap¬ 
tain of the Betsy has been waiting this half-hour for 
the invoice. Well, sir! Will you go for it now ? 
And at the same time bring me the copy, to enclose 
in this letter to our correspondent by post.” 

I stood petrified. “ Sir, the invoice, sir!—Good 
heavens! I forgot it entirely,” 

“You remember it now, sir, I suppose. Keep 
your apologies till we have leisure. The invoices, 
if you please.” 

“ The invoices! My God, sir! I beg ten thou¬ 
sand pardons! They are not drawn out.” 

“ Not drawn out. Impossible!” said Mr. Croft. 

“ Then I’m off,” cried the captain, with a tre¬ 
mendous oath. “ I can’t wait another tide for any 
clerk breathing.’ , 

“ Send back the porters, captain, if you please,” 
said Mr. Croft, coolly. “ The whole cargo must 
be unpacked. I took it for granted, Mr. Basil, that 
you had drawn the invoice, according to order, 
yesterday morning; and of course the goods were 
packed in the evening. I was certainly wrong in 


TO-MORROW. 


413 


taking it for granted that you would be punctual. 
A man of business should take nothing for granted. 
This is a thing that will not occur to me again as 
long as I live.” 

I poured forth expressions of contrition ; but ap¬ 
parently unmoved by them, and without anger or 
impatience in his manner, he turned from me as 
soon as the porters came back with the goods, and 
ordered them all to be unpacked and replaced in 
the warehouse. I was truly concerned. 

“ I believe you spent your evening yesterday 
with young Mr. Hudson?” said he, returning to 
me. 

“ Yes, sir,—I am sincerely sorry—” 

“ Sorrow, in these cases, does no good, sir,” in¬ 
terrupted he. “ I thought I had sufficiently 
warned you of the danger of forming that intimacy. 
Midnight carousing will not do for men of busi¬ 
ness.” 

“ Carousing, sir!” said I. “ Give me leave to 
assure you that we were not carousing. We were 
only at a.frog-concert” 

Mr. Croft, who had at least suppressed his dis¬ 
pleasure till now, looked absolutely angry; he 
thought I was making a joke of him. When I con¬ 
vinced him that I was in earnest, he changed from 
35 * 


414 


POPULAR TALES. 


anger to astonishment, with a large mixture of con¬ 
tempt in his nasal muscles. 

“ A frog-concert,” repeated he. “ And is it 
possible that any man could neglect an invoice 
merely to go to hear a parcel of frogs croaking in 
a swamp 7 Sir, you will never do in a mercan¬ 
tile house.” He walked off to the warehouse, and 
left me half-mortified and half-provoked. 

From this time forward all hopes from Mr. 
Croft’s friendship were at an end. He was coldly 
civil to me during the few remaining days of the 
fortnight that we staid at his house. He took the 
trouble, however, of looking out for a cheap and 
tolerably comfortable lodging for my wife and boy ; 
the rent of which he desired to pay for his relation, 
he said, as long as I should remain in Philadelphia, 
or till I should find myself in some eligible situation. 
He seemed pleased with Lucy, and said she was a 
very properly conducted, well disposed, prudent 
young woman, whom he was not ashamed to own 
for a cousin. He repeated, at parting, that he 
should be happy to afford me every assistance in 
reason , towards pursuing any feasible plan of ad¬ 
vancing myself; but it was his decided opinion that 
I could never succeed in a mercantile line. 

I never liked Mr. Croft; he was much too 


TO-MORROW. 


415 


punctual , too much of an automaton, for me; but 
I should have felt more regret at leaving him, and 
losing his friendship, and should have expressed 
more gratitude for his kindness to Lucy and my 
boy, if my head had not at the time been full of 
young Hudson. He professed the warmest regard 
for me, congratulated me on getting free from old 
Croft’s mercantile clutches, and assured me that 
such a man as I was could not fail to succeed in 
the world by my own talents and the assistance of 
friends and good connexions. 

I was now almost every day at his father’s house, 
in company with numbers of rich and gay people, 
who were all my friends. I was the life of society, 
was invited everywhere, and accepted every invita¬ 
tion, because I could not offend Mr. Hudson’s inti¬ 
mate acquaintance. 

From day to day, from week to week, from month 
to month, I went on in this style. I was old Hud¬ 
son’s grand favourite, and everybody told me he 
could do any thing he pleased for me. I had formed 
a scheme, a bold scheme, of obtaining from govern 
ment a large tract of territory in the ceded lands 
of Louisiana, and of collecting a subscription in 
Philadelphia, among my friends , to make a settle¬ 
ment there: the subscribers to be paid by instal- 


416 


POPULAR TALES. 


merits, so much the first year, so much the second, 
and so onward, till the whole should be liquidated. 
I was to collect hands from the next ships, which 
were expected to be full of emigrants from Ireland 
and Scotland. I had soon a long list of subscribers, 
who gave me their names always after dinner, or 
after supper. Old Hudson wrote his name at the 
head of the list, with an ostentatiously large sum 
opposite to it. 

As nothing could be done till the ensuing spring, 
when the ships were expected, I spent my time in 
the same convivial manner. The spring came, 
but there was no answer obtained from government 
respecting the ceded territory ; and a delay of a 
few months was necessary. Mr. Hudson, the 
father, was the person who had undertaken to ap¬ 
ply for the grant; and he spoke always of the 
scheme, and of his own powers of carrying it into 
efFect, in the most confident manner. From his 
conversation anybody would have supposed that 
the mines of Peru were upon his plantation; and 
that in comparison with his, the influence of the 
President of the United States was nothing. I was 
a full twelvemonth before I was convinced that he 
was a boaster and a fabulist; and I was another 
twelvemonth before I could persuade myself that 


TO-MORROW. 


417 


he was one of the most selfish, indolent, and obsti¬ 
nate of human beings. He was delighted to have 
me always at his table to entertain him and his 
guests, but he had not the slightest real regard for 
me, or care for my interests. He would talk to 
me as long as I pleased of his possessions, and his 
improvements, and his wonderful crops ; but the 
moment I touched upon any of my own affairs, he 
would begin to yawn, throw himself on a sofa, 
and seem going to sleep. Whenever I mentioned 
his subscription, he would say with a frown, “ We 
will talk of that, Basil, to-morrow .” 

Of my whole list of subscribers not above four 
ever paid a shilling into my hands: their excuse 
always was, “ When government has given an 
answer about the ceded territory, we will pay the 
subscriptionsand the answer of government 
always was, “ When the subscriptions are paid, 
we will make out a grant of the land.” I was dis¬ 
gusted, and out of spirits; but I thought all my 
chance was to preserve, and to keep my friends in 
good-humour: so that I was continually under the 
necessity of appearing the same jovial companion, 
laughing, singing, and drinking, when Heaven 
knows, my heart was heavy enough. 

At the end of the second year of promises, de- 


418 


POPULAR TALES. 


lays, and disappointments, my Lucy, who had 
always foretold how things would turn out, urged 
me to withdraw myself from this idle society, to 
give up my scheme, and to take the management 
of a small plantation in conjunction with the bro¬ 
ther of Mr. Croft. His regard for my wife, who 
had won much upon this family by her excellent 
conduct, induced him to make me this offer; but I 
considered so long, and hesitated so much, whether 
I should accept of this proposal, that the time for 
accepting it passed away. 

I had still hopes that my friend young Hudson 
would enable me to carry my grand project into 
execution; he had a considerable plantation in 
Jamaica, left to him by his grandfather on the 
mother’s side; he was to be of age, and to take 
possession of it the ensuing year, and he proposed 
to sell it, and to apply some of the purchase-money 
to our scheme, of the success of which he had as 
sanguine expectations as I had myself. He was 
of a most enthusiastic, generous temper. I had 
obtained the greatest influence over him, and I am 
convinced, at this time, there was nothing in the 
world he would not have sacrificed for my sake. 
All that he required from me was to be his con¬ 
stant companion. He was extravagantly fond of 


TO-MORROW. 


419 


field sports; and, though a Londoner, I was a 
good shot, and a good angler: for, during the time 
I was courting Lucy, I found it necessary to make 
myself a sportsman to win the favour of her 
brothers. With these accomplishments, my hold 
upon the esteem and affections of my friend was 
all-powerful. Every day in the season we went 
out shooting or fishing together: then, in the 
winter-time, we had various employments, I mean 
various excuses for idleness. Hudson was a great 
skater, and he had infinite diversion in teaching me 
to skate at the hazard of my scull. He was also 
to initiate me in the American pastime of sleigh¬ 
ing •, or sleding. Many a desperately cold winter’s 
day I have submitted to be driven in his sled, when 
I would much rather, I own, have been safe and 
snug by my own fireside, with my wife. 

Poor Lucy spent her time in a disagreeable and 
melancholy way during these three years: for, 
while I was out almost every day and all day long, 
she was alone in her lodging for numberless hours. 
She never repined, but always received me with a 
good-humoured countenance when I came home, 
even after sitting up half the night to wait for my 
return from Hudson’s suppers. It grieved me to 
the heart to see her thus seemingly deserted, but I 


420 


POPULAR TALES. 


comforted myself with the reflection that this way 
of life would last but for a short time; that my 
friend would soon be of age, and able to fulfil all 
his promises; and that we should then all live to¬ 
gether in happiness. I assured Lucy that the 
present idle, if not dissipated, manner in which I 
spent my days was not agreeable to my taste; 
that I was often extremely melancholy, even when 
I was forced to appear in the highest spirits; and 
that I often longed to be quietly with her, when I 
was obliged to sacrifice my time to friendship. 

It would have been impossible that she and my 
child could have subsisted all this time indepen¬ 
dently, but for her steadiness and exertions. She 
would not accept of any pecuniary assistance ex¬ 
cept from her relation, Mr. Croft, who regularly 
paid the rent of her lodgings. She undertook to 
teach some young ladies whom Mrs. Croft introdu¬ 
ced to her various kinds of fine needle work, in 
which she excelled ; and for this she was well paid. 
I know that she never cost me one farthing during 
the three years and three months that we lived in 
Philadelphia. But even for this I do not give her 
so much credit as for her sweet temper during these 
trials, and her great forbearance in never reproach¬ 
ing or disputing with me. Many wives, who are 


TO-MORROW. 


421 


called excellent managers, make their husbands pay- 
tenfold in suffering what they save in money. This 
was not my Lucy’s way; and therefore, wilh my 
esteem and respect, she ever had my fondest affec¬ 
tions. I was in hopes the hour was just coming 
when I should be able to prove this to her, and 
when we should no longer be doomed to spend our 
days asunder. But, alas ! her judgment was better 
than mine. 

My friend Hudson was now within six weeks of 
being of age, when, unfortunately, there arrived in 
Philadelphia a company of players from England. 
Hudson, who was eager for every thing that had 
the name of pleasure, insisted upon my going with 
him to their first representation. Among the ac¬ 
tresses there was a girl of the name of Marion, 
who seemed to be ordinary enough, just fit for a 
company of strolling players, but she danced pass¬ 
ably well, and danced a great deal between the acts 
that night. Hudson clapped his hands till I was 
quite out of patience. He was in raptures, and 
the more I depreciated, the more he extolled the 
girl. I wished her in Nova Zembla, for I saw that 
he was falling in love with her, and had a kind of 
presentiment of all that was to follow. To tell the 
matter briefly, for what signifies dwelling upon past 
36 


422 


POPULAR TALES. 


misfortunes, the more young Hudson’s passion in 
creased for this dancing girl, the more his friendship 
for me declined; for I had frequent arguments with 
him upon the subject, and did all I could to open 
his eyes. J saw that the damsel had art, that she 
knew the extent of her power, and that she would 
draw her infatuated lover in to marry her. He was 
headstrong and violent in all his passions; he 
quarrelled with me, carried the girl off to Jamaica, 
married her the day he was of age, and settled 
upon his plantation. There was an end to all my 
hopes about the ceded territory. 

Lucy, who was always my recourse in misfor¬ 
tune, comforted me by saying I had done my duty 
in combating my friend’s folly at the expense of 
my own interest; and that, though he had quar¬ 
relled with me, she loved me the better for it. 

Reflecting upon my own history and character, 
I have often thought it a pity that, with certain good 
qualities, and I will add talents, which deserve a 
better fate, I should have never succeeded in any 
thing I attempted, because I could not conquer one 
seemingly slight defect in my disposition, which 
had grown into ^ habit. Thoroughly determined, 
by Lucy’s advice, to write to Mr. Croft, to request 
lie would give me another trial, I put off sending 


TO-MORROW. 


423 


the letter till the next day: and that very morning 
Mr. Croft set off on a journey to a distant part of 
the country, to see a daughter that was newly mar¬ 
ried. 

I was vexed, and from a want of something bet- 
ter to do, went out a-shooting to get rid of disagree¬ 
able thoughts. I shot several pheasants, and when 
I came home carried them, as was my custom, to 
old Mr. Hudson’s kitchen, and gave them to the 
cook. I happened to stay in the kitchen to feed 
a favourite dog, while the cook was preparing the 
birds I had brought. I observed in the crop of one 
of the pheasants, some bright green leaves, and 
some buds, which I suspected to be the leaves and 
buds of the kalmia latifolia , a poisonous shrub. 
I was not quite certain, for I had almost forgotten 
the little botany which I knew before I went to 
China. I took the leaves home with me, to examine 
them at leisure, and to compare them with the bo¬ 
tanical description; and I begged that the cook 
would not dress the birds till she saw or heard from 
me again. I promised to see her or send to her, 
the next day. But the next day, when I went to 
the library, to look in a book of .botany, my atten¬ 
tion w r as caught by some new reviews, which were 
just arrived from London. I put off the examina* 


424 


POPULAR TALES. 


tion of the kalmia latifolia , till the day after. To¬ 
morrow, said I, will do just as well, for I know the 
cook will not dress the pheasants to-day; old Hud¬ 
son does not like them till they have been kept a * 
day or two. 

To-morrow came, and the leaves were forgotten 
till evening, when I saw them lying on my table, 
and put them out of the way, lest my little boy 
should find and eat them. I was sorry that I had 
not examined them this day, but I satisfied myself 
in the same way as I had done before: to-morrow 
will do as well: the cook will not dress the pheas¬ 
ants to-day : old Mr. Hudson thinks them the bet¬ 
ter for being kept two or three days. 

To-morrow came; but, as the leaves of the 
kalmia latifolia were out of my sight, they went 
out of my mind. I was invited to an entertain¬ 
ment this day at the mayor’s: there was a large 
company, and after dinner I was called upon, as 
usual, for a song; the favourite song of 

“ Dance and sing, Time’s on the wing, 

Life never knows return of spring 

when a gentleman came in, pale and breathless, to 
tell us that Mr. Hudson and three gentlemen who 
had been dining with him, were suddenly seized 


TO-MORROW. 


42 < 


with convulsions after eating of a pheasant, and 
that they were not expected to live. My blood ran 
cold; I exclaimed, “ My God! I am answerable 
for this.” On my making this exclamation there 
was immediate silence in the room ; and every eye 
turned upon me with astonishment and horror. I 
fell back in my chair, and what passed afterward 
I know not; but when I came to myself, I found 
two men in the room with me, who were set to 
guard me. The bottles and glasses were still upon 
the table, but the company had all dispersed; and 
the mayor, as my guards informed me, was gone 
to Mr. Hudson’s to take his dying deposition. 

In this instance, as in all cases of sudden alarm, 
report had exaggerated the evil: Mr. Hudson, though 
extremely ill, was not dying; his three guests, after 
some hours’ illness, were perfectly recovered. Mr. 
Hudson, who had eaten the most plentifully of the 
pheasant, was not himself \ as he said, for two days; 
the third day he was able to see company at dinner 
as usual, and my mind was relieved from an in¬ 
supportable state of anxiety. 

Upon examination, the mayor was convinced that 
I was perfectly innocent: the cook told the exact 
truth, blamed herself for not sending to me before 
she dressed the birds: but said that she concluded 
36 * 


426 


POPULAR TALES. 


I had found the leaves I took home were harmless, 
as I never came to tell her the contrary. 

I was liberated, and went home to my wife. 
She clasped me in her arms, but could not articu¬ 
late a syllable. By her joy at seeing me again, 
she left me to judge of what she must have suffered 
during this terrible interval. 

For some time after this unfortunate accident 
happened it continued to be the subject of general 
conversation in Philadelphia. The story was told 
a thousand different ways, and the comments upon 
it were in various ways injurious to me. Some 
blamed me, for what indeed I deserved to be most 
severely blamed, my delaying one hour to examine 
the leaves found in the crop of the pheasant; others 
affected to think it absolutely impossible that any 
human being could be so dilatory and negligent, 
where the lives of fellow-creatures and friends, and 
friends by whom I had been treated with the utmost 
hospitality for years, were concerned. Others, still 
more malicious, hinted that, though I had been fa¬ 
voured by the mayor, and perhaps by the goodness 
of poor Mr. Hudson, there must be something more 
than had come to light in the business ; and some 
boldly pronounced that the story of the leaves of 
the kalmia latifolia was a mere blind, for that the 


TO-MORROW. 


427 


pheasant could not have been rendered poisonous 
by such means.* 

That a motive might not be wanting for the crime, 
it was whispered that old Mr. Hudson had talked 
of leaving me a considerable legacy, which I was 
impatient to touch, that I might carry my adven¬ 
turing schemes into execution. I was astonished 
as much as shocked at the sudden alterations in the 
manners of all my acquaintance. The tide of po¬ 
pularity changed, and I was deserted. That those 
who had lived with me so long in convivial inti¬ 
macy, that those who had courted, admired, flat¬ 
tered me, those who had so often professed them¬ 
selves my friends, could suddenly, without the 
slightest probability, believe me capable of the most 
horrible crime, appeared to me scarcely credible. 

* “ In the severe winter of the years 1790 and 1791, there 
appeared to be such unequivocal reasons for believing that 
several persons in Philadelphia had died in consequence of 
their eating pheasants, in whose crops the leaves and buds 
of the kalmia latifolia were found, that the mayor of the 
city thought it prudent and his duty to warn the people 
against the use of this bird, by a public proclamation. I 
know that by many persons, especially by some lovers of 
pheasants’ flesh, the circumstance just mentioned was sup¬ 
posed to be destitute of foundation: but the foundation was 
a solid one .”—Vide a paper by B. Smith Barton, M.D. 
American Transactions, vol. 51. 


428 


POPULAR TALES. 


[n reality, many would not give themselves the 
trouble to think about the matter, but were glad of 
a pretence to shake off the acquaintance of a man 
of whose stories and songs they began to be weary, 
and who had put their names to a subscription 
which they did not wish to be called upon to pay. 
Such is the world! Such is the fate of all good 
fellows and excellent bottle companions! Certain 
to be deserted by their dear friends at the least re¬ 
verse of fortune. 


CHAPTER VI. 

My situation in Philadelphia was now so disa¬ 
greeable, and my disgust and indignation were so 
great, that I determined to quit the country. My 
real friend Mr. Croft was absent all this time from 
town. 1 am sure, if he had been at home, he 
would have done me justice; for, though he never 
liked me, he was a just, slow-judging man, who 
would not have been run away with by the hurry 
of popular prejudice. I had other reasons for re¬ 
gretting his absence: I could not conveniently quit 
America without money, and he was the only per¬ 
son to whom I could or would apply for assistance. 



TO-MORROW. 


429 


We had not many debts, for which I must thank 
my excellent wife: but, when every thing to the 
last farthing was paid, I was obliged to sell my 
watch and some trinkets, to get money for our 
voyage. I was not accustomed to such things, and 
1 was ashamed to go to the pawnbroker’s, lest I 
should be met and recognised by some of my 
friends. I wrapped myself up in an old surtout, 
and slouched my hat over my face. 

As I was crossing the quay, I met a party of 
gentlemen walking arm-in-arm. I squeezed past 
them, but one stopped to look after me; and, 
though I turned down another street to escape him, 
he dogged me unperceived. Just as I came out 
of the pawnbroker’s shop, I saw him posted oppo¬ 
site to me: I brushed by; I could with pleasure 
have knocked him down for his impertinence. By 
the time that I had reached the corner of the 
street, I heard a child calling after me. I stopped, 
and a little boy put into my hands my watch, say¬ 
ing, “ Sir, the gentleman says you left your watch 
and these thingumbobs by mistake.” 

“What gentleman ?” 

“ I don’t know, but he was one that said I looked 
like an honest chap, and he’d trust me to run and 


430 


POPULAR TALES. 


give you the watch. He is dressed in a blue coat. 
He went towards the quay. That’s all I know.” 

On opening the paper of trinkets I found a card 
with these words: 

“ Barny —with kind thanks.” 

Barny! Poor Barny! The Irishman whose 
passage 1 paid coming to America three years ago. 
Is it possible ? 

I ran after him the way which the child directed, 
and was so fortunate as just to catch a glimpse of 
the skirt of his coat, as he went into a neat, good- 
looking house. I walked up and down some time, 
expecting him to come out again ; for I could not 
suppose that it belonged to Barny. I asked a 
grocer, who was leaning over his hatch door, if he 
knew who lived in the next house. 

“ An Irish gentleman, of the name of O’Grady.” 

“ And his Christian-name ?” 

“ Here it is in my books, sir—Barnaby O’Grady.” 

I knocked at Mr. O’Grady’s door, and made my 
way into the parlour; where I found him, his two 
sons, and his wife, sitting very sociably at tea. He 
and the two young men rose immediately to set me 
a chair. 

“ You are welcome, kindly welcome, sir,” said 
he. “ This is an honour I never expected, any way. 


TO-MORROW. 


431 


Be pleased to take the seat near the fire. ’T would 
be hard indeed if you would * not have the best 
seat that’s to be had in this house, where we none 
of us never should have sat, nor had seats to sit 
upon, but for you.” 

The sons pulled off my shabby great-coat, and 
look away my hat, and the wife made up the fire. 
There was something in their manner altogether 
which touched me so much that it was with diffi¬ 
culty I could keep myself from bursting into tears. 
They saw this, and Barny (for I shall never call 
him any thing else,) as he thought that I should 
like better to hear of public affairs than to speak 
of my own, began to ask his sons if they had seen 
the day's papers, and what news there were ? 

As soon as I could command my voice, I con¬ 
gratulated this family upon the happy situation in 
which I found them ; and asked by what lucky ac¬ 
cidents they had succeeded so well. 

“ The luckiest accident ever happened me before 
or since I came to America,” said Barny, “ was 
being on board the same vessel with such a man 
as you. If you had not given me the first lift, I 
had been down for good and all and trampled under 


* Should. 


2 


POPULAR TALES. 


foot long and long ago. But, after that first lift, 
all was as easy as life. My two sons here were 
not taken from me—God bless you! for I never 
can bless you enough for that. The lads were left 
to work for me and with me ; and we never parted, 
hand or heart, but just kept working on together, 
and put all our earnings, as fast as we got them* 
into the hands of that good woman, and lived hard 
at first, as we were bred and born to do, thanks 
be to Heaven ! Then we swore against drink of 
all sorts entirely. And, as I had occasionally 
served the masons, when I lived a labouring man 
in the county of Dublin, and knew something of 
that business, why, whatever I knew I made the 
most of, and a trowel felt no ways strange to me ; 
so I went to work, and had higher wages at first 
than I deserved. The same with the two boys: 
one was as much of a blacksmith as would shoe a 
horse; and t’other a bit of a carpenter; and the 
one got plenty of work in the forges, and t’other in 
the dockyards, as a ship-carpenter. So, early and 
late, morning and evening, we were all at the 
work, and just went this way struggling on even 
for a twelvemonth, and found, with the high 
wages and constant employ we had met, that we 
were getting greatly better in the world. Besides 


TO-MORROW. 


433 


the wife was not idle. When a girl, she had 
seen baking, and had always a good notion of 
it, and just tried her hand upon it now, and 
found the loaves went down with the customers, 
and the customers coming faster and faster for 
them; and this was a great help. Then I 
grew master-mason, and had my men under me, 
and took a house to build by the job, and that did; 
and then on to another and another; and after 
building many for the neighbours, ’twas fit and my 
turn, I thought, to build one for myself, which I 
did out of theirs, without wronging them of a penny. 
And the boys grew master-men, in their line ; and 
when they got good coats, nobody could say against 
them, for they had come fairly by them, and be¬ 
came them well perhaps for that rason. So, not to 
be tiring you too much, we went on from good to 
better, and better to best; and if it pleased God to 
question me how it was we got on so well in the 
world, I should answer, Upon my conscience, my¬ 
self does not know; except it be that we never made 
Saint Monday,* nor never put oft* till the morrow 
what we could do the day.” 

* Saint Monday, or St. Crispin. It is a custom in Ire 
land, among shoemakers, if they intoxicate themselves on 
Sunday, to do no work on Monday ; and this they call 

37 


434 


POPULAR TALES'. 


I believe I sighed deeply at this observation, not¬ 
withstanding the comic phraseology in which it was 
expressed. 

“ But all this is no rule for a gentleman born,” 
pursued the good-natured Barny, in answer, 1 sup¬ 
pose, to the sigh which I uttered ; “ nor is it any 
disparagement to him if he has not done as well in 
a place like America, where he had not the means; 
not being used to bricklaying and slaving with his 
hands, and striving as we did. Would it be too 
much liberty to ask you to drink a cup of tea, and 
to taste a slice of my good woman’s bread and but¬ 
ter? And happy the day we see you eating it, 
and only wish we could serve you in any way what¬ 
soever.” 

I verily believe the generous fellow forgot, at 
this instant, that he had redeemed my watch and 
wife’s trinkets. He would not let me thank him 
as much as I wished, but kept pressing upon me 
fresh offers of service. When he found I was 
going to leave America, he asked what vessel we 
should go in. I was really afraid to tell him, lest 
he should attempt to pay for my passage. But for 

making a St. Monday, or keeping Saint Crispin’s day. 
Many have adopted this good custom from the example 
of the shoemakers. 


TO-MORROW. 


435 


this he had, as I afterwards found, too much deli¬ 
cacy of sentiment. He discovered, by questioning 
the captains, in what ship we were to sail; and 
when we went on board, we found him and his sons 
there to take leave of us, which they did in the 
most affectionate manner; and, after they were 
gone, we found in the state cabin, directed to me, 
everything that could be useful or agreeable to us, 
as sea-stores for a long voyage. 

How I wronged this man when I thought his ex¬ 
pressions of gratitude were not sincere, because they 
were not made exactly in the mode and with the 
accent of my own countrymen ! I little thought 
that Barny and his sons would be the only persons 
who would bid us a friendly adieu when we were 
to leave America. 

We had not exhausted our bountiful provision of 
sea-stores when we were set ashore in England. 
We landed at Liverpool; and I cannot describe the 
melancholy feelings with which I sat down, in the 
little back parlour of the inn, to count my money, 
and to calculate whether we had enough to carry 
us to London. Is this, thought I, as I looked at 
the few guineas and shillings spread on the table, 
is this all I have in this world ? I, my wife, and 
child! And is this the end of three years’ absence 


436 


POPULAR TALES. 


from my native country ? As the negroes say of 
a fool who takes a voyage in vain, I am come back, 
‘with little more than the hair upon my head” 
Is this the end of all my hopes, and all my talents ? 
What will become of my wife and child 1 I ought 
to insist upon her going home to her friends, that 
she may at least have the necessaries and comforts 
of life, till I am able to maintain her. 

The tears started from my eyes; they fell upon 
an old newspaper, which lay upon the table under 
my elbow. I took it up to hide my face from Lucy 
and my child, who just then came into the room ; 
and, as I read without well knowing what, I came 
among the advertisements to my own name. 

“ If Mr. Basil Lowe, or his heir, will apply to 
Mr. Gregory, attorney, No. 34 Cecil-street, he will 
hear of something to his advantage.” 

I started up with an exclamation of joy, wiped 
my tears from the newspaper, put it into Lucy's 
hand, pointed to the advertisement, and ran to take 
places in the London coach for the next morning. 
Upon this occasion I certainly did not delay. Nor 
did I, when we arrived in London, put off one mo¬ 
ment going to Mr. Gregory’s, No. 34 Cecil-street. 

Upon application to him I was informed that a 
very distant relation of mine, a rich miser, had just 


TO-MORROW. 


437 


died, and had left his accumulated treasures to me, 
“ because I was the only one of his relations who 
had never cost him a single farthing.” Other men 
have to complain of their ill fortune, perhaps with 
justice ; and this is a great satisfaction which I have 
never enjoyed; for I must acknowledge that all 
my disasters have arisen from my own folly. For¬ 
tune has been uncommonly favourable to me. 
Without any merit of my own, or rather, as it ap¬ 
peared, in consequence of my negligent habits, 
which prevented me from visiting a rich relation, I 
was suddenly raised from the lowest state of pecu¬ 
niary distress to the height of affluent prosperity. 

I took possession of a handsome house in an 
agreeable part of the town, and enjoyed the delight 
of sharing all the comforts and luxuries which 
wealth could procure with the excellent woman who 
had been my support in adversity. I must do my¬ 
self the justice to observe that I did not become 
dissipated or extravagant; affection and gratitude 
to my Lucy filled my whole mind, and preserved 
me from the faults incident to those who rise sud¬ 
denly from poverty to wealth. I did not forget my 
good friend Mr. Nun, who had relieved me formerly 
from prison; of course I paid the debt which he 
37 # 


438 


POPULAR TALES. 


had forgiven, and lost no opportunity of showing 
him kindness and gratitude. 

I was now placed in a situation where the best 
parts of my character appeared to advantage, and 
where the grand defect of my disposition was not 
apparently of any consequence. I was not now 
obliged like a man of business, to be punctual; and 
delay in mere engagements of pleasure was a tri¬ 
fling offence, and a matter of raillery among my 
acquaintances. My talents in conversation were 
admired; and if I postponed letter-writing, my 
correspondents only tormented me a little with po¬ 
lite remonstrances. I was conscious that I was not 
cured of my faults; but I rejoiced that I was not 
now obliged to reform, or in any danger of invol¬ 
ving those I loved in distress by my negligence. 

For one year I was happy, and flattered myself 
that I did not waste my time; for, at my leisure, I 
read with attention all the ancient and modern works 
upon education. I resolved to select from them 
what appeared most judicious and practicable; and 
so to form from the beauties of each a perfect 
system for the advantage of my son. He was my 
only child; he was the darling of his mother, whom 
I adored, and he was thought to be in mind and 
person a striking resemblance of myself. How 


TO-MORROW. 


439 


many reasons had I to love him! I doted upon 
the child. He certainly showed great quickness 
of intellect, and gave as fair a promise of talents 
as could be expected at his age. I formed hopes 
of his future excellence and success in the world 
as sanguine as those which my poor father had 
early formed of mine. I determined to watch 
carefully over his temper, and to guard him par¬ 
ticularly against that habit of procrastination which 
had been the bane of my life. 

One day, while I was alone in my study, lean¬ 
ing on my elbow, and meditating upon the system 
of education which I designed for my son, my 
wife came to me and said, “ My dear, I have just 
heard from our friend Mr. Nun a circumstance 
that alarms me a good deal. You know little 
Harry Nun was inoculated at the same time with 
our Basil, and by the same person. Mrs. Nun 
and all the family thought he had several spots, 
just as much as our boy had, and that was enough ; 
but two years afterward, while we were in America, 
Harry Nun caught the small-pox in the natural 
way, and died. Now it seems the man who in¬ 
oculated him was quite ignorant; for two or three 
other children, whom he attended, have caught the 
disease since, though he was positive that they 


440 


POPULAR TALES. 


were safe. Don’t you think we had better have 
our boy inoculated again immediately by some 
proper person V 9 

“ Undoubtedly, my dear; undoubtedly. But I 
think we had better have him vaccined. I am not 

sure, however; but I will ask Dr.-’s opinion 

this day, and be guided by that: I shall see him at 
dinner: he has promised to dine with us.” 

Some accident prevented him from coming, and 
I thought of writing to him the next day, but after¬ 
ward put it off. Lucy came again into my study, 
where she was sure to find me in the morning. 
“ My dear,” said she, “ do you recollect that you 
desired me to defer inoculating our little boy till 
you could decide whether it be best to inoculate him 
in the common way or the vaccine V 9 

“ Yes, my dear, I recollect it perfectly well. I 
am much inclined to the vaccine. My friend Mr. 

L-has had all his children vaccined, and I jus 

wait to see the effect.” 

“ Oh, my love!” said Lucy, “ do not wait any 
longer; for you know we run a terrible risk of his 
catching the small-pox every day, every hour.” 

“We have run that risk, and escaped for these 
three years past,” said I; “ and in my opinion, the 
boy has had the small-pox.” 



TO-MORROW. 


441 


“ So Mr. and Mrs. Nun thought, and you see 
what has happened. Remember, our boy was in¬ 
oculated by the same man. I am sure, ever since 
Mr. Nun mentioned this, I never take little Basil 
out to walk, I never see him in a shop, I never 
have him in the carriage with me without being in 
terror. Yesterday a woman came to the coach- 
door with a child in her arms, who had a break¬ 
ing out on his face. I thought it was the small¬ 
pox, and was so terrified that I had scarcely 
strength or presence of mind enough to draw up 
the glass. Our little boy was leaning out of the 
door to give a halfpenny to the child. My God! 
if that child had the small-poxl” 

“ My love,” said I, “ do not alarm yourself so 
terribly; the boy shall be inoculated to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow! Oh, my dearest love, do not put 
it off till to-morrow,” said Lucy; “ let him be in¬ 
oculated to-day.” 

“ Well, my dear, only keep your mind easy, 
and he shall be inoculated to-day, if possible; 
surely you must know I love the boy as well as 
you do, and am as anxious about him as you can 
be.” 

“I am sure of it, my love,” said Lucy; “ I 
meant no reproach.. But since you have decided 


442 


POPULAR TALES. 


that the boy shall be vaccined, let us send directly 
for the surgeon, and have it done, and then we will 
be safe.” 

She caught hold of the bell-cord to ring for a 
servant: I stopped her. 

“ No my, dear, don’t ring,” said I; “ for the 
men are both out. I have sent one to the library 
for the new Letters on Education, and the other to 
the rational toyshop for some things I want for the 
child.” 

“Then, if the servants are out, I had better 
walk to the surgeon’s, and bring him back with 
me.” 

“No, my dear,” said I; “I must see Mr. 
L-’s children first. I am going out immedi¬ 

ately ; I will call upon them: they are healthy 
children; we can have the vaccine infection from 
them, and I will inoculate the boy myself.” 

Lucy submitted. I take a melancholy pleasure 
in doing her justice, by recording every argument 
that she used, and every persuasive word that she 
said to me upon this occasion. I am anxious to 
show that she was not in the least to blame. I 
alone am guilty! I alone ought to have been the 
sufferer! It will scarcely be believed—I can 
hardly believe it myself, that, after all Lucy said 


TO-MORROW. 


443 


to me, I delayed, two hours, and staid to finish 
making an extract from Rousseau’s Emilius before 

1 set out. When I arrived at Mr. L-’s, the 

children were just gone out to take an airing, and 
I could not see them. A few hours may some¬ 
times make all the difference between health and 
sickness, happiness and misery: I put off till the 
next day the inoculation of my child. 

In the meantime a coachman came to me to be 
hired: my boy was playing about the room, and, 
as I afterward recollected, went close up to the 
man, and, while I was talking, stood examining a 
greyhound upon his buttons. I asked the coach¬ 
man many questions, and kept him for some time 
in the room. Just as I agreed to take him into my 
service, he said he could not come to live with me 
till the next week, because one of his children was 
ill of the small-pox. 

These words struck me to the heart. I had a 
dreadful presentiment of what was to follow. I 
remember starting from my seat, and driving the 
man out of the house with violent menaces. My 
boy, poor innocent victim! followed, trying to pa¬ 
cify me, and holding me back by the skirts of my 
coat. I caught him up in my arms. I could not 
kiss him ; I felt as if I was his murderer. I set 


444 


POPULAR TALES. 


him down again: indeed I trembled so violently 
that I could not hold him. The child ran for his 
mother. 

I cannot dwell on these things. Our boy sick¬ 
ened the next week; and the week afterward died 
in his mother’s arms! 

Her health had suffered much by the trials which 
she had gone through since our marriage. The 
disapprobation of her father, the separation from 
all her friends, who were at variance with me, my 
imprisonment, and then the death of her only child, 
were too much for her fortitude. She endeavoured 
to conceal this from me; but I saw that her health 
was rapidly declining. She was always fond of 
the country; and, as my sole object now in life 
was to do whatsoever I could to console and please 
her, I proposed to sell our house in town, and to 
settle somewhere in the country. In the neighbour¬ 
hood of her father and mother there was a pretty 
place to be let, which I had often heard her mention 
with delight; I determined to take it: I had secret 
hopes that her friends would be gratified by this 
measure, and that they would live upon good terms 
with us. Her mother had seemed by her letters to 
be better disposed towards me since my rich re¬ 
lation had left me his fortune. Lucy expressed 


TO-MORROW. 


445 


great pleasure at the idea of going to live in the 
country, near her parents; and I was rejoiced to 
see her smile once more. Being naturally of a 
sanguine disposition, hope revived in my heart; I 
flattered myself that we might yet be happy, that 
my Lucy would recover her peace of mind and 
her health, and that perhaps Heaven might bless us 
with another child. 

I lost no time in entering into treaty for the estate 
in the country, and I soon found a purchaser for 
my excellent house in town. But my evil genius 
prevailed. I had neglected to renew the insurance 
of my house; the policy was out but nine days,* 
when a fire broke out in one of my servants’ rooms 
at midnight, and, in spite of all the assistance we 
could procure, the house was burnt to the ground. 
I carried my wife out senseless in my arms; and 
when I had deposited her in a place of safety, re¬ 
turned to search for a portfolio, in which was the 
purchase-money of the country estate, all in bank¬ 
notes. But whether this portfolio was carried off 
by some of the crowd which had assembled round 
the ruins of my house, or whether it was consumed 
in the flames, I cannot determine. A more mise- 


38 


Founded on fact. 


446 


POPULAR TALES. 


rable wretch than I was could now scarcely be 
found in the world; and, to complete my misfor¬ 
tunes, I felt the consciousness that they were all 
occasioned by my own folly. 

I am now coming to the most extraordinary and 
the most interesting part of my history. A new 
and surprising accident happened. 

****** 

****** 

Note by the Editor .—What this accident was can never 
now be known; for Basil put off finishing his history till 

TO-MORROW. 

This fragment was found in an old escritoir, in an obscure 
lodging in Swallow-street. 

August, 1803. 


THE END. 


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